LY 
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SSfcttton 

This  special  edition  is  limited  to  One  Thousand 
numbered  Copies.      No.  jf..3k-..£. 


ESSAYS  ON  WORK  AND  CULTURE 


Robert  Browning. 


ESSAYS 
ON  WORJi 
AND 
CULTURE 


HAMILTON 
WRIGHT 

MARIE 


£?1>ODD,  MEAD  K 
COMPANY -MCM 


Copyright,  1898 
BY  THE  OUTLOOK  Co. 

Copyright,  1900 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved 


Printed  in  October  1900 


TO 

HENRY   VAN   DYKE 

'  Along  the  slender  wires  of  speech 

Some  message  from  the  heart  is  sent; 
But  who  can  tell  the  whole  that 's  meant? 

Our  dearest  thoughts  are  out  of  reach." 


Contents 


Chapter  Page 

I.  TOOL  OR  MAN  ?    .....  7 

II.  THE  MAN  IN  THE  WORK       .  17 

III.  WORK  AS  SELF-EXPRESSION    .     .  27 

IV.  THE  PAIN  OF  YOUTH       ...  35 
V.  THE  YEAR  OF  WANDERING  .      .  44 

VI.  THE  ULTIMATE  TEST       ...  53 

VII.  LIBERATION      ......  62 

VIII.  THE  LARGER  EDUCATION       .      .  70 

IX.  FELLOWSHIP     ......  79 

X.  WORK  AND  PESSIMISM       ...  88 

XI.  THE  EDUCATIONAL  ATTITUDE    .  98 

XII.  SPECIAL  TRAINING     ....  108 

XIII.  GENERAL  TRAINING    .      .      .      .  117 

XIV.  THE  ULTIMATE  AIM  .      .      .      .  127 
XV.  SECURING  RIGHT  CONDITIONS     .  137 

XVI.  CONCENTRATION   .....  149 

XVII.  RELAXATION    ......  1  59 

XVIII.  RECREATION     ......  170 

v 


Contents 

Chapter                                       '  Page 

XIX.    EASE  OF  MOOD     .    '.      .      .      .  180 

XX.    SHARING  THE  RACE-FORTUNE     „  188 

XXI.    THE  IMAGINATION  IN  WORK       .  198 

XXII.    THE  PLAY  OF  THE  IMAGINATION  208 

XXIII.  CHARACTER 219 

XXIV.  FREEDOM  FROM  SELF-CONSCIOUS 

NESS     231 

XXV.    CONSUMMATION 241 


Work  and  Culture 

9 

Chapter  I 

Tool  or  Man  ? 

A  COMPLETE  man  is  so  un 
common  that  when  he  appears 
he  is  looked  upon  with  suspicion,  as 
if  there  must  be  something  wrong 
about  him.  If  a  man  is  content  to 
deal  vigorously  with  affairs,  and  leave 
art,  religion,  and  science  to  the  en 
joyment  or  refreshment  or  enlighten 
ment  of  others,  he  is  accepted  as 
strong,  sound,  and  wise ;  but  let  him 
add  to  practical  sagacity  a  love  of 
poetry  and  some  skill  in  the  practice 
of  it ;  let  him  be  not  only  honest 
and  trustworthy,  but  genuinely  reli- 
7 


Work  and  Culture 

gious ;  let  him  be  not  only  keenly 
observant  and  exact  in  his  estimate  of 
trade  influences  and  movements,  but 
devoted  to  the  study  of  some  science, 
and  there  goes  abroad  the  impression 
that  he  is  superficial.  It  is  written, 
apparently,  in  the  modern,  and  es 
pecially  in  the  American,  conscious 
ness,  that  a  man  can  do  but  one 
thing  well ;  if  he  attempts  more  than 
one  thing,  he  betrays  the  weakness 
of  versatility.  If  this  view  of  life  is 
sound,  man  is  born  to  imperfect  de 
velopment  and  must  not  struggle 
with  fate.  He  may  have  natural 
aptitudes  of  many  kinds ;  he  may 
have  a  passionate  desire  to  try  three 
or  four  different  instruments ;  he 
may  have  a  force  of  vitality  which  is 
equal  to  the  demands  of  several  vo 
cations  or  avocations  ;  but  he  must 
disregard  the  most  powerful  impulses 
8 


Tool  or  Man  ? 

of  his  nature ;  he  must  select  one 
tool,  and  with  that  tool  he  must  do 
all  the  work  appointed  to  him. 

If  he  is  a  man  of  business,  he  must 
turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  voices  of  art ; 
if  he  writes  prose,  he  must  not  per 
mit  himself  the  delight  of  writing 
verse ;  if  he  uses  the  pen,  he  must 
not  use  the  voice.  If  he  ventures  to 
employ  two  languages  for  his  thought, 
to  pour  his  energy  into  two  channels, 
the  awful  judgment  of  superficiality 
falls  on  him  like  a  decree  of  fate. 

So  fixed  has  become  the  habit  of 
confusing  the  use  of  manifold  gifts 
with  mere  dexterity  that  men  of 
quality  and  power  often  question  the 
promptings  which  impel  them  to  use 
different  or  diverse  forms  of  expres 
sion  ;  as  if  a  man  were  born  to  use 
only  one  limb  and  enjoy  only  one 
resource  in  this  many-sided  universe  ! 
9 


Work  and  Culture 

Specialisation  has  been  carried  so 
far  that  it  has  become  an  organised 
tyranny  through  the  curiously  per 
verted  view  of  life  which  it  has  de 
veloped  in  some  minds.  A  man  is 
permitted,  in  these  days,  to  cultivate 
one  faculty  or  master  one  field  of 
knowledge,  but  he  must  not  try  to 
live  a  whole  life,  or  work  his  nature 
out  on  all  sides,  under  penalty  of 
public  suspicion  and  disapproval. 
If  a  Pericles  were  to  appear  among 
us,  he  would  be  discredited  by  the 
very  qualities  which  made  him  the 
foremost  public  man  of  his  time 
among  the  most  intelligent  and  gifted 
people  who  have  yet  striven  to  solve 
the  problems  of  life.  If  Michel 
angelo  came  among  us,  he  would  be 
compelled  to  repress  his  tremendous 
energy  or  face  the  suspicion  of  the 
critical  mind  of  the  age ;  it  is  not 
10 


Tool  or  Man  ? 

permitted  a  man,  in  these  days,  to 
excel  in  painting,  sculpture,  archi 
tecture,  and  sonnet-writing.  If,  in 
addition,  such  a  man  were  to  exhibit 
moral  qualities  of  a  very  unusual 
order,  he  would  deepen  the  suspicion 
that  he  was  not  playing  the  game  of 
life  fairly ;  for  there  are  those  who 
have  so  completely  broken  life  into 
fragments  that  they  not  only  deny 
the  possibility  of  the  possession  of  the 
ability  to  do  more  than  one  thing 
well,  but  the  existence  of  any  kind 
of  connection  between  character  and 
achievement. 

Man  is  not  only  a  fragment,  but 
the  world  is  a  mass  of  unrelated 
parts ;  religion,  science,  morals,  and 
art  moving  in  little  spheres  of 
their  own,  without  the  possibility  of 
contact.  The  arts  were  born  at  the 
foot  of  the  altar,  as  we  are  some- 
n 


Work  and  Culture 

times  reminded ;  but  let  the  artist 
beware  how  he  entertains  religious 
ideas  or  emotions  to-day ;  to  suggest 
that  art  and  morals  have  any  interior 
relation  is,  in  certain  circles,  to 
awaken  pity  that  one's  knowledge  of 
these  things  is  still  so  rudimentary. 
The  scholar  must  beware  of  the 
graces  of  style;  if,  like  the  late 
Master  of  Balliol,  he  makes  a  trans 
lation  so  touched  with  distinction 
and  beauty  that  it  is  likely  to  become 
a  classic  in  the  language  in  which  it 
is  newly  lodged,  there  are  those  who 
look  askance  at  his  scholarship;  for 
knowledge,  to  be  pure  and  genuine, 
must  be  rude,  slovenly,  and  barbar 
ous  in  expression.  The  religious 
teacher  may  master  the  principles  of 
his  faith,  but  let  him  beware  how  he 
applies  them  to  the  industrial  or 
social  conditions  of  society.  If  he 


Tool  or  Man  ? 

ventures  to  make  this  dangerous  ex 
periment,  he  is  promptly  warned  that 
he  is  encroaching  on  the  territory  of 
the  economist  and  sociologist.  The 
artist  must  not  permit  himself  to  care 
for  truth,  because  it  has  come  to  be 
understood  in  some  quarters  that  he 
is  concerned  with  beauty,  and  with 
beauty  alone.  To  assume  that  there 
is  any  unity  in  life,  any  connection 
between  character  and  achievement, 
any  laws  of  growth  which  operate  in 
all  departments  and  in  all  men,  is  to 
discredit  one's  intelligence  and  jeop 
ardise  one's  influence.  One  field 
and  one  tool  to  each  man  seems  to 
be  the  maxim  of  this  divisive  philos 
ophy —  if  that  can  be  called  a  phil 
osophy  which  discards  unity  as  a 
worn-out  metaphysical  conception, 
and  separates  not  only  men  but 
the  arts,  occupations,  and  skills 


Work  and  Culture 

from      each    other      by     impassable 
gulfs. 

Versatility  is  often  a  treacherous 
ease,  which  leads  the  man  who 
possesses  it  into  fields  where  he  has 
no  sure  footing  because  he  has  no 
first-hand  knowledge,  and  therefore 
no  real  power;  and  against  this  ten 
dency,  so  prevalent  in  this  country, 
the  need  of  concentration  must  con 
tinually  be  urged.  The  great  majority 
of  men  lack  the  abounding  vitality 
which  must  find  a  variety  of  channels 
to  give  it  free  movement.  But  the 
danger  which  besets  some  men  ought 
not  to  be  made  a  limitation  for  men 
of  superior  strength  ;  it  ought  not  to 
be  used  as  a  barrier  to  keep  back 
those  whose  inward  impulse  drives 
them  forward,  not  in  one  but  in 
many  directions.  Above  all,  the 
.'imitations  of  a  class  ought  not  to  be 
14 


Tool  or  Man  ? 

made  the  basis  of  a  conception  of  life 
which  divides  its  activities  by  hard  and 
fast  lines,  and  tends,  by  that  process 
of  hardening  which  shows  itself  in 
every  field  of  thought  or  work,  to 
make  men  tools  and  machines  in 
stead  of  free,  creative  forces  in 
society. 

A  man  of  original  power  can  never 
be  confined  within  the  limits  of  a 
single  field  of  interest  and  activity, 
nor  can  he  ever  be  content  to  bear 
the  marks  and  use  the  skill  of  a 
single  occupation.  He  cannot  pour 
his  whole  force  into  one  channel; 
there  is  always  a  reserve  of  power  be 
yond  the  demands  of  the  work  which 
he  has  in  hand  at  the  moment. 
Wherever  he  may  find  his  place  and 
whatever  work  may  come  to  his  hand, 
he  must  always  be  aware  of  the  larger 
movement  of  life  which  incloses  his 


Work  and  Culture 

special  task ;  and  he  must  have  the 
consciousness  of  direct  relation  with 
that  central  power  of  which  all  activi 
ties  are  inadequate  manifestations. 
To  a  man  of  this  temper  the  whole 
range  of  human  interests  must  remain 
open,  and  such  a  man  can  never 
escape  the  conviction  that  life  is  a 
unity  under  all  its  complexities ;  that 
all  activities  stand  vitally  related  to 
each  other  ;  that  truth,  beauty,  knowl 
edge,  and  character  must  be  harmon 
ised  and  blended  in  every  real  and 
adequate  development  of  the  human 
spirit.  To  the  growth  of  every 
flower  earth,  sun,  and  atmosphere 
must  contribute ;  in  the  making  of  a 
man  all  the  rich  forces  of  nature  and 
civilisation  must  have  place. 


16 


Chapter  II 

The  Man  in  the  Work 


general  mind  possesses  a 
JL  kind  of  divination  which  dis 
covers  itself  in  those  comments,  criti 
cisms,  and  judgments  which  pass  from 
man  to  man  through  a  wide  area  and 
sometimes  through  long  periods  of 
time.  The  opinion  which  appears  at 
first  glance  to  be  an  expression  of  ma 
terialism  often  shows,  upon  closer 
study,  an  element  of  idealism  or  a 
touch  of  spiritual  discernment.  It  is 
customary,  for  instance,  to  say  of  a 
man  that  he  lives  in  his  works  ;  as  if 
the  enduring  quality  of  his  fame  rested 
in  and  was  dependent  upon  the  tan 
gible  products  of  his  genius  or  his 

skill.     There  is  truth  in  the  phrase 
2  17 


Work  and  Culture 

even  when  its  scope  is  limited  to  this 
obvious  meaning ;  but  there  is  a 
deeper  truth  behind  the  truism,  —  the 
truth  that  a  man  lives  in  his  works, 
not  only  because  they  commemorate 
but  because  they  express  him.  They 
are  products  of  his  skill ;  but  they 
are  also  the  products  of  his  soul. 
The  man  is  revealed  in  them,  and 
abides  in  them,  not  as  a  statue  in  a 
temple,  but  as  a  seed  in  the  grain  and 
the  fruit.  They  have  grown  out  of 
him,  and  they  uncover  the  secrets  of 
his  spiritual  life.  No  man  can  con 
ceal  himself  from  his  fellows ;  every 
thing  he  fashions  or  creates  interprets 
and  explains  him. 

This  deepest  significance  of  work 
has  always  been  divined  even  when  it 
has  not  been  clearly  perceived.  Men 
have  understood  that  there  is  a  spirit 
ual  quality  even  in  the  most  material 
18 


The  Man  in  the  Work 

products  of  a  man's  activity,  and, 
even  in  ruder  times,  they  have  dis 
cerned  the  inner  relation  of  the  things 
which  a  man  makes  with  the  man 
himself.  In  our  time,  when  the  im 
mense  significance  of  this  essential 
harmony  between  spirit  and  product 
has  been  accepted  as  a  guiding  prin- 
ple  in  historic  investigation,  the  stray 
spear-head  and  broken  potsherd  are 
prized  by  the  anthropologist,  because 
a  past  race  lives  in  them.  The  lowest 
and  commonest  kind  of  domestic 
vessels  and  implements  disclose  to 
the  student  of  to-day  not  only  the 
stage  of  manual  skill  which  their 
makers  had  reached,  but  also  the 
general  ideas  of  life  which  those  mak 
ers  held.  When  it  comes  to  the 
higher  products,  character,  tempera 
ment,  and  genius  are  discerned  in  every 
mutilated  fragment.  The  line  on  an 
19 


Work  and  Culture 

urn  reveals  the  spirit  of  the  unknown 
sculptor  who  cut  it  in  the  endur 
ing  stone.  It  has  often  been  said 
that  if  every  memorial  of  the  Greek 
race  save  the  Parthenon  had  perished, 
it  would  be  possible  to  gain  a  clear 
and  true  impression  of  the  spir 
itual  condition  and  quality  of  that 
race. 

The  great  artists  are  the  typical  and 
representative  men  of  the  race,  and 
whatever  is  true  of  them  is  true,  in 
a  lesser  degree,  of  men  in  general. 
There  is  in  the  work  of  every  great 
sculptor,  painter,  writer,  composer, 
architect,  a  distinctive  and  individual 
manner  so  marked  and  unmistakable 
as  to  identify  the  man  whenever  and 
wherever  a  bit  of  his  work  appears. 
If  a  statue  of  Phidias  were  to  be 
found  without  any  mark  of  the  sculp 
tor  upon  it,  there  would  be  no  delay 

20 


The  Man  in  the  Work 

in  determining  whose  work  it  was ; 
no  educated  musician  would  be  un 
certain  for  a  moment  about  a  compo 
sition  of  Wagner's  if  he  heard  it  for 
the  first  time  without  knowledge  of 
its  source ;  nor  would  a  short  story 
from  the  hand  of  Hawthorne  remain 
unclaimed  a  day  after  its  publication. 
Now,  this  individual  manner  and 
quality,  so  evident  that  it  is  impossi 
ble  not  to  recognise  it  whenever  it 
appears,  is  not  a  trick  of  skill ;  it  has 
its  source  in  a  man's  temperament 
and  genius ;  it  is  the  subtlest  and 
most  deep-going  disclosure  of  his  na 
ture.  In  so  far  as  a  spiritual  quality 
can  be  contained  and  expressed  in 
any  form  of  speech  known  among 
men  —  and  all  the  arts  are  forms  of 
speech — that  which  is  most  secret 
and  sacred  in  a  man  is  freely  given 
to  the  world  in  his  work. 

21 


Work  and  Culture 

Work  is  sacred,  therefore,  not  only 
because  it  is  the  fruit  of  self-denial, 
patience,  and  toil,  but  because  it  un 
covers  the  soul  of  the  worker.  We 
deal  with  each  other  on  so  many 
planes,  and  have  so  much  speech  with 
each  other  about  things  of  little  mo 
ment,  that  we  often  lose  the  sense  of 
the  sanctity  which  attaches  to  person 
ality  whenever  it  appears.  There 
come  moments,  however,  when  some 
intimate  experience  is  confided  to  us, 
and  then,  in  the  pause  of  talk,  we 
become  aware  that  we  are  in  presence 
of  a  human  soul  behind  the  familiar 
face  of  our  friend,  and  that  we  are  on 
holy  ground.  In  such  moments  the 
quick  emotion,  the  sudden  thrill,  bear 
eloquent  witness  to  that  deeper  and 
diviner  life  in  which  we  all  share,  but 
of  which  we  rarely  seem  aware.  This 
perception  of  the  presence  of  a  man's 

22 


The  Man  in  the  Work 

soul  comes  to  us  when  we  stand  be 
fore  a  true  work  of  art.  We  not  only 
uncover  our  heads,  but  our  hearts  are 
uncovered  as  well.  Here  is  one  who 
through  all  his  skill  speaks  to  us  in 
a  language  which  we  understand,  but 
which  we  rarely  hear.  A  great  work 
of  art  not  only  liberates  the  imagina 
tion,  but  the  heart  as  well;  for  it  speaks 
to  us  more  intimately  than  our  friends 
are  able  to  speak,  and  that  reticence 
which  holds  us  back  from  perfect 
intercourse  when  we  look  into  each 
other's  faces  vanishes.  A  few  lines 
read  in  the  solitude  of  the  woods,  or 
before  the  open  fire,  often  kindle  the 
emotion  and  imagination  which  slum 
ber  within  us  ;  in  companionship  with 
the  greatest  minds  our  shyness  van 
ishes  ;  we  not  only  take  but  give  with 
unconscious  freedom.  When  we  reach 
this  stage  we  have  reached  the  man 
23 


Work  and  Culture 

who  lives  not  only  by  but  in  the  work, 
and  whose  innermost  nature  speaks  to 
us  and  confides  in  us  through  the 
form  of  speech  which  he  has  chosen. 

The  higher  the  quality  of  the  work, 
the  clearer  the  disclosure  of  the  spirit 
which  fashioned  it  and  gave  it  the 
power  to  search  and  liberate.  The 
plays  of  Sophocles  are,  in  many  ways, 
the  highest  and  most  representative 
products  of  the  Greek  literary  genius  ; 
they  show  that  genius  at  the  moment 
when  all  its  qualities  were  in  harmony 
and  perfectly  balanced  between  the 
spiritual  vision  which  it  formed  of 
life,  and  the  art  form  to  which  it 
commits  that  precious  and  impalpable 
possession.  One  of  the  distinctive 
qualities  of  these  plays  is  their  objec 
tivity  ;  their  detachment  from  the 
moods  and  experiences  of  the  drama 
tist.  This  detachment  is  so  complete 
24 


The  Man  in  the  Work 

that  at  first  glance  every  trace  of  the 
dramatist  seems  to  have  been  erased. 
But  there  are  many  passages  besides 
the  famous  lines  descriptive  of  the 
grove  at  Colonus  which  betray  the  per 
sonality  behind  the  plays;  and, studied 
more  closely,  the  very  detachment  of 
the  drama  from  the  dramatist  is  signifi 
cant  of  character.  In  the  poise,  har 
mony,  and  balance  of  these  beautiful 
creations  there  is  revealed  the  instinct 
for  proportion,  the  self-control  and 
the  subordination  of  the  parts  to  the 
whole  which  betray  a  nature  com 
mitted  by  its  very  instincts  to  a  pas 
sionate  devotion  to  beauty.  In  one 
of  the  poems  of  our  own  century 
which  belongs  in  the  first  rank  of  ar 
tistic  achievements, "  In  Memoriam," 
the  highest  themes  are  touched  with 
the  strength  of  one  who  knows  how 
to  face  the  problems  of  life  with 
25 


Work  and  Culture 

impartial  and  impersonal  courage,  and 
with  the  tenderness  of  one  whose  own 
heart  has  felt  the  immediate  pressure 
of  these  tremendous  questions.  So 
every  great  work,  whether  personal  or 
impersonal  in  intention,  conveys  to 
the  intelligent  reader  an  impression 
of  the  thought  behind  the  skill,  and 
of  the  character  behind  the  thought. 
Goethe  frankly  declared  that  his  works 
constituted  one  great  confession.  All 
work  is  confession  and  revelation  as 
well. 


26 


Chapter  III 

Work  as  Self-Expression 

THE  higher  the  kind  and  quality 
of  a  man's  work,  the  more 
completely  does  it  express  his  per 
sonality.  There  are  forms  of  work 
so  rudimentary  that  the  touch  of 
individuality  is  almost  entirely  ab 
sent,  and  there  are  forms  of  work  so 
distinctive  and  spiritual  that  they  are 
instantly  and  finally  associated  with 
one  man.  The  degree  in  which  a 
man  individualises  his  work  and 
gives  it  the  quality  of  his  own  mind 
and  spirit  is,  therefore,  the  measure 
of  his  success  in  giving  his  nature 
free  and  full  expression.  For  work, 
in  this  large  sense,  is  the  expression 
of  the  man ;  and  as  the  range  and 
27 


Work  and  Culture 

significance  of  all  kinds  of  expres 
sion  depend  upon  the  scope  and 
meaning  of  the  ideas,  forces,  skills, 
and  qualities  expressed,  so  the  dignity 
and  permanence  of  work  depend  upon 
the  power  and  insight  of  the  worker. 
All  sound  work  is  true  and  genuine 
self-expression,  but  work  has  as  many 
gradations  of  quality  and  significance 
as  has  character  or  ability.  Dealing 
with  essentially  the  same  materials, 
each  man  in  each  generation  has  the 
opportunity  of  adding  to  the  com 
mon  material  that  touch  of  originality 
in  temperament,  insight,  or  skill  which 
is  his  only  possible  contribution  to 
civilisation. 

The  spiritual  nature  of  work  and 
its  relation  to  character  are  seen  in 
the  diversity  of  work  which  the  dif 
ferent  races  have  done,  and  in  the 
unmistakable  stamp  which  the  work 
28 


Work  as  Self-Expression 

of  each  race  bears.  First  as  a  matter 
of  instinct,  and  later  as  a  matter  of 
intelligence,  each  race  has  followed, 
in  its  activities,  the  lines  of  least  re 
sistance,  and  put  its  energies  forth  in 
ways  which  were  most  attractive  be 
cause  they  offered  the  freest  range  and 
were  nearest  at  hand.  The  attempt 
of  some  historians  of  a  philosophical 
turn  of  mind  to  fit  each  race  into  a 
category  and  to  give  each  race  a 
sharply  defined  sphere  of  influence 
has  been  carried  too  far,  and  has  dis 
credited  the  effort  to  interpret  arbi 
trarily  the  genius  of  the  different 
races  and  to  assign  arbitrarily  their 
functions.  It  remains  true,  however, 
that,  in  a  broad  sense,  each  race  has 
had  a  peculiar  quality  of  mind  and 
spirit  which  may  be  called  its  genius, 
and  each  has  followed  certain  general 
line?  and  kept  within  certain  general 
29 


Work  and  Culture 

limits  in  doing  its  work.  The  people 
who  lived  on  the  great  plains  of  Cen 
tral  Asia  worked  in  a  different  temper 
and  with  wide  divergence  of  manner 
from  the  people  who  lived  on  the 
banks  of  the  Nile ;  and  the  Jew, 
the  Greek,  and  the  Roman  showed 
their  racial  differences  as  distinctly 
in  the  form  and  quality  of  their  work 
as  in  the  temper  of  their  mind  and 
character.  And  thus,  on  a  great 
historical  scale,  the  significance  of 
work  as  an  expression  of  character 
is  unmistakably  disclosed. 

In  this  sense  work  is  practically 
inclusive  of  every  force  and  kind  of 
life ;  since  every  real  worker  puts 
into  it  all  that  is  most  distinctive  in 
his  nature.  The  moral  quality  con 
tributes  sincerity,  veracity,  solidity  of 
structure ;  the  intellectual  quality  is 
disclosed  in  order,  lucidity,  and  grasp 
3° 


Work  as  Self-Expression 

of  thought ;  the  artistic  quality  is 
seen  in  symmetry,  proportion,  beauty 
of  construction  and  of  detail ;  the 
spiritual  quality  is  revealed  in  depth 
of  insight  and  the  scope  of  relation 
ships  brought  into  view  between  the 
specific  work  and  the  world  in  which 
it  is  done.  In  work  of  the  finer 
order,  dealing  with  the  more  impres 
sionable  material,  there  are  discover 
able  not  only  the  character  and 
quality  of  the  worker,  but  the  con 
ditions  under  which  he  lives ;  the 
stage  of  civilisation,  the  vigour  or 
languor  of  vital  energy,  the  richness 
or  poverty  of  social  life,  the  character 
of  the  soil  and  of  the  landscape,  the 
pallor  or  the  bloom  of  vegetation,  the 
shining  or  the  veiling  of  the  skies. 
So  genuinely  and  deeply  does  a  man 
put  himself  into  the  thing  he  does 
that  whatever  affects  him  affects  it, 
31 


Work  and  Culture 

and  all  that  flows  into  him  of  spir 
itual,  human,  and  natural  influence 
flows  into  and  is  conserved  by  it.  A 
bit  of  work  of  the  highest  quality  is 
a  key  to  a  man's  life  because  it  is  the 
product  of  that  life,  and  it  brings  to 
light  that  which  is  hidden  in  the  man 
as  truly  as  the  flower  lays  bare  to  the 
sun  that  which  was  folded  in  the  seed. 
What  a  man  does  is,  therefore,  an 
authentic  revelation  of  what  he  is, 
and  by  their  works  men  are  fairly 
and  rightly  judged. 

For  this  reason  no  man  can  live  in 
any  real  sense  who  fails  to  give  his 
personality  expression  through  some 
form  of  activity.  For  action  in  some 
field  is  the  final  stage  of  development ; 
and  to  stop  short  of  action,  to  rest  in 
emotion  or  thought,  is  to  miss  the 
higher  fruits  of  living  and  to  evade 
one's  responsibility  to  himself  as  well 
32 


Honore  De  Balzac. 


Honore  De  Balzac. 


Work  as  Self-Expression 

as  to  society.  The  man  whose  ar 
tistic  instinct  is  deep  cannot  be  con 
tent  with  those  visions  which  rise 
out  of  the  deeps  of  the  imagination 
and  wait  for  that  expression  which 
shall  give  them  objective  reality;  the 
vision  brings  with  it  a  moral  necessity 
which  cannot  be  evaded  without  seri 
ous  loss.  Indeed,  the  vitality  of  the 
imagination  depends  largely  upon  the 
fidelity  with  which  its  images  are  first 
realised  in  thought  and  then  em 
bodied  by  the  hand.  To  compre 
hend  what  life  means  in  the  way  of 
truth  and  power,  one  must  act  as  well 
as  think  and  feel.  For  action  itself 
is  a  process  of  revelation,  and  the 
sincerity  and  power  with  which  a 
man  puts  forth  that  which  is  disclosed 
to  him  determine  the  scope  of  the 
disclosure  of  truth  which  he  receives. 
To  comprehend  all  that  life  involves 
3  33 


Work  and  Culture 

of  experience,  or  offers  of  power, 
one  must  give  full  play  to  all  the 
force  that  is  in  him.  It  is  significant 
that  the  men  of  creative  genius  are, 
as  a  rule,  men  of  the  greatest  pro 
ductive  power.  One  marvels  at  the 
magnitude  of  the  work  of  such  men 
as  Michelangelo  and  Rembrandt,  as 
Beethoven  and  Wagner,  as  Shake 
speare,  Balzac,  Thackeray,  Carlyle, 
and  Browning  ;  not  discerning  that, 
as  these  master  workers  gave  form  and 
substance  to  their  visions  and  insight, 
the  power  to  see  and  to  understand 
deepened  and  expanded  apace  with 
their  achievements. 


34 


Chapter  IV 

The  Pain  of  Youth 

IT  is  the  habit  of  the  poets,  and  of 
many  who  are  poets  neither  in 
vision  nor  in  faculty,  to  speak  of 
youth  as  if  it  were  a  period  of  un 
shadowed  gaiety  and  pleasure,  with 
no  consciousness  of  responsibility  and 
no  sense  of  care.  The  freshness  of 
feeling,  the  delight  in  experience,  the 
joy  of  discovery,  the  unspent  vitality 
which  welcomes  every  morning  as  a 
challenge  to  one's  strength,  invest 
youth  with  a  charm  which  art  is 
always  striving  to  preserve,  and  which 
men  who  have  parted  from  it  re 
member  with  a  sense  of  pathos ;  for 
the  morning  of  life  comes  but  once, 
and  when  it  fades  something  goes 
35 


Work  and  Culture 

which  never  returns.  There  are  am 
ple  compensations,  there  are  higher 
joys  and  deeper  insights  and  rela 
tionships  ;  but  a  magical  charm  which 
touches  all  things  and  turns  them  to 
gold,  vanishes  with  the  morning.  In 
reaching  its  perfection  of  beauty  the 
flower  must  part  with  the  dewy  prom 
ise  of  its  earliest  growth. 

All  this  is  true  of  youth,  which  in 
many  ways  symbolises  the  immortal 
part  of  man's  nature,  and  must  be, 
therefore,  always  beautiful  and  sacred 
to  him.  But  it  is  untrue  that  the  sky 
of  youth  has  no  clouds  and  the  spirit 
of  youth  no  cares ;  on  the  contrary, 
no  period  of  life  is  in  many  ways 
more  painful.  The  finer  the  organi 
sation  and  the  greater  the  ability, 
the  more  difficult  and  trying  the  ex 
periences  through  which  the  youth 
passes.  George  Eliot  has  pointed 


The  Pain  of  Youth 

out  a  striking  peculiarity  of  childish 
grief  in  the  statement  that  the  child 
has  no  backs-round  of  other  griefs 

O  O 

against  which  the  magnitude  of  its 
present  sorrow  may  be  measured. 
While  that  sorrow  lasts  it  is  com 
plete,  absolute,  and  hopeless,  because 
the  child  has  no  memory  of  other 
trials  endured,  of  other  sorrows  sur 
vived.  In  this  fact  about  the  earliest 
griefs  lies  the  source  also  of  the  pains 
of  youth.  The  young  man  is  an  un 
developed  power ;  he  is  largely  igno 
rant  of  his  own  capacity,  often  without 
inward  guidance  towards  his  voca 
tion  ;  he  is  unadjusted  to  the  society 
in  which  he  must  find  a  place  for 
himself.  He  is  full  of  energy  and 
aspiration,  but  he  does  not  know  how 
to  expend  the  one  or  realise  the 
other.  His  soul  has  wings,  but  he 
cannot  fly,  because,  like  the  eagle,  he 
37 


Work  and  Culture 

must  have  space  on  the  ground  before 
he  rises  in  the  air.  If  his  imagina 
tion  is  active  he  has  moments  of 
rapture,  days  of  exaltation,  when  the 
world  seems  to  lie  before  him  clear 
from  horizon  to  horizon.  His  hours 
of  study  overflow  with  the  passion 
for  knowledge,  and  his  hours  of  play 
are  haunted  by  beautiful  or  noble 
dreams.  The  world  is  full  of  wonder 
and  mystery,  and  the  young  explorer 
is  impatient  to  be  on  his  journey. 
No  plan  is  then  too  great  to  be 
accomplished,  no  moral  height  too 
difficult  to  be  attained.  After  all  that 
has  been  said,  the  rapture  of  youth, 
when  youth  means  opportunity,  re 
mains  unexpressed.  No  poet  will 
ever  entirely  compass  it,  as  no  poet 
will  ever  quite  ensnare  in  speech  the 
measureless  joy  of  those  festival  morn 
ings  in  June  when  Nature  seems 
38 


The  Pain  of  Youth 

on  the  point  of  speaking  in  human 
language. 

But  this  rapture  is  inward ;  it  has 
its  source  in  the  earliest  perception  of 
the  richness  of  life  and  man's  capacity 
to  appropriate  it.  It  is  the  rapture 
of  discovery,  not  of  possession  ;  the 
rapture  of  promise,  not  of  achieve 
ment.  It  is  without  the  verification 
of  experience  or  the  corroborative 
evidence  of  performance.  Youth  is 
possibility ;  that  is  its  charm,  its  joy, 
and  its  power  ;  but  it  is  also  its  limi 
tation.  There  lies  before  it  the  real 
crisis  through  which  every  man  of 
parts  and  power  passes  :  the  develop 
ment  of  the  inward  force  and  the  ad 
justment  of  the  personality  to  the 
order  of  life.  The  shadow  of  that 
crisis  is  never  quite  absent  from  those 
radiant  skies  which  the  poets  love  to 
recall  ;  the  uncertainty  of  that  su- 
39 


Work  and  Culture 

preme  issue  in  experience  is  never 
quite  out  of  mind.  Siegfried  must 
meet  the  dragon  before  he  can  climb 
those  heights  on  which,  encircled  by 
fire,  his  ideal  is  to  take  the  form  and 
substance  of  reality ;  and  the  prelu 
sive  notes  of  that  fateful  struggle  are 
heard  long  before  the  sword  is  forged 
or  the  hour  of  destiny  has  come. 

There  is  no  test  of  character  more 
severe  or  difficult  to  bear  than  the 
suspense  of  waiting.  The  man  who 
can  act  eases  his  soul  under  the  great 
est  calamities  ;  but  he  who  is  com 
pelled  to  wait,  unless  he  be  of  hardy 
fibre,  eats  his  heart  out  in  a  futile 
despair.  Troops  will  endure  losses 
when  they  are  caught  up  in  the  stir 
of  a  charge  which  would  demoralise 
and  scatter  them  if  they  were  com 
pelled  to  halt  under  the  relentless  guns 
of  masked  batteries.  Now,  the  char- 
40 


The  Pain  of  Youth 

acteristic  trial  of  youth  is  this  experi 
ence  of  waiting  at  a  moment  when 
the  whole  nature  craves  expression 
and  the  satisfaction  of  action.  The 
greater  the  volume  of  energy  in  the 
man  who  has  yet  to  find  his  vocation 
and  place,  the  more  trying  the  ordeal. 
There  are  moments  in  the  life  of  the 
young  imagination  when  the  very 
splendour  of  its  dreams  fills  the  soul 
with  despair,  because  there  seems  no 
hope  of  giving  them  outward  reality ; 
and  the  clearer  the  consciousness  of 
the  possession  of  power,  the  more 
poignant  the  feeling  that  it  may  find 
no  channel  through  which  to  add 
itself  to  the  impulsion  which  drives 
forward  the  work  of  societv. 

j 

The  reality  of  this  crisis  in  spiritual 
experience — the  adjustment  between 
the  personality  and  the  physical,  so 
cial,  and  industrial  order  in  which 

41 


Work  and  Culture 

it  must  find  its  place  and  task  —  is 
the  measure  of  its  possible  painful- 
ness.  It  is  due,  perhaps,  to  the 
charm  which  invests  youth,  as  one 
looks  back  upon  it  from  maturity  or 
age,  that  its  pain  is  forgotten  and 
that  sympathy  withheld  which  youth 
craves  often  without  knowing  why  it 
craves.  A  helpful  comprehension  of 
the  phase  of  experience  through 
which  he  is  passing  is  often  the  su 
preme  need  of  the  ardent  young 
spirit.  His  pain  has  its  roots  in  his 
ignorance  of  his  own  powers  and  of 
the  world.  He  strives  again  and 
again  to  put  himself  in  touch  with 
organised  work ;  he  takes  up  one 
task  after  another  in  a  fruitless  en 
deavour  to  succeed.  He  does  not 
know  what  he  is  fitted  to  do,  and 
he  turns  helplessly  from  one  form  of 
work  for  which  he  has  no  faculty  to 
42 


The  Pain  of  Youth 

another  for  which  he  has  less.  His 
friends  begin  to  think  of  him  as  a 
ne'er-do-weel ;  and,  more  pathetic 
still,  the  shadow  of  failure  begins  to 
darken  his  own  spirit.  And  yet  it 
may  be  that  in  this  halting,  stum 
bling,  ineffective  human  soul,  vainly 
striving  to  put  its  hand  to  its  task, 
there  is  some  rare  gift,  some  splendid 
talent,  waiting  for  the  ripe  hour  and 
the  real  opportunity  !  In  such  a 
crisis  sympathetic  comprehension  is 
invaluable,  but  it  is  rarely  given,  and 
the  youth  works  out  his  problem  in 
isolation.  If  he  is  courageous  and 
persistent  he  finds  his  place  at  last ; 
and  work  brings  peace,  strength,  self- 
comprehension. 


43 


Chapter  V 

The  Year  of  Wandering 

GOETHE      prefaces      Wilhelm 
Meister's   travels  with    some 
lines  full  of  that  sagacity  which  was 
so  closely  related  to  his  insight: 

What    shap'st    thou    here    at    the  world  ?    'tis 

shapen  long  ago ; 
The  Maker  shaped  it,  he  thought  it  best  even 

so  ; 

Thy  lot  is  appointed,  go  follow  its  hest  ; 
Thy  way  is  begun,   thou  must  walk,  and  not 

rest  ; 

For  sorrow  and  care  cannot  alter  the  case  ; 
And    running,    not   raging,   will   win   thee    the 

race. 

My  inheritance,  how  wide  and  fair ! 
Time  is  my  estate  :   to  time  I  'm  heir. 
44 


The  Year  of  Wandering 

Between  the  preparation  and  the 
work,  the  apprenticeship  and  the 
actual  dealing  with  a  task  or  an  art, 
there  comes,  in  the  experience  of 
many  young  men,  a  period  of  un 
certainty  and  wandering  which  is 
often  misunderstood  and  counted  as 
time  wasted,  when  it  is,  in  fact,  a 
period  rich  in  full  and  free  develop 
ment.  In  the  days  when  Wilhelm 
Meister  was  written,  the  Wanderjahr 
or  year  of  travel  was  a  recognised 
part  of  student  life,  and  was  held  in 
high  regard  as  contributing  a  valuable 
element  to  a  complete  education. 
"The  Europe  of  the  Renaissance," 
writes  M.  Wagner,  "  was  fairly  fur 
rowed  in  every  direction  by  students, 
who  often  travelled  afoot  and  bare 
foot  to  save  their  shoes."  These 
wayfarers  were  light-hearted  and  often 
empty-handed ;  they  were  in  quest 
45 


Work  and  Culture 

of  knowledge,  but  the  intensity  of 
the  search  was  tempered  by  gaiety 
and  ease  of  mood.  Under  a  mask 
of  frivolity,  however,  youth  often 
wears  a  serious  face,  and  behind  ap 
parent  aimlessness  there  is  often  a 
steady  and  final  turning  of  the  whole 
nature  towards  its  goal. 

Uncertainty  breeds  impatience ; 
and  in  youth,  before  the  will  is  firmly 
seated  and  the  goal  clearly  seen,  im 
patience  often  manifests  itself  in  the 
relaxation  of  all  forms  of  restraint. 
The  richer  the  nature  the  greater  the 
reaction  which  sometimes  sets  in  at  this 
period ;  the  more  varied  and  power 
ful  the  elements  to  be  harmonised  in 
a  man's  character  and  life,  the  greater 
the  ferment  and  agitation  which  often 
precede  the  final  discernment  and 
acceptance  of  one's  work.  If  the 
pressure  of  uncertainty  with  regard 
46 


The  Year  of  Wandering 

to  one's  gifts  and  their  uses  ought  to 
call  out  patience  and  sympathy,  so 
ought  that  experience  of  spiritual  and 
intellectual  agitation  which  often  in 
tervenes  between  the  training  for 
life  and  the  process  of  actual  living. 
This  experience  is  a  true  year  of 
wandering,  and  there  is  nothing  of 
which  the  wanderer  stands  in  such 
need  as  the  friendly  hand  and  the 
door  which  stands  hospitably  open. 
It  is  the  born  drudge  alone  who  is 
content  to  go  from  the  school  to  the 
office  or  the  shop  without  so  much 
as  asking  the  elementary  questions 
about  life.  The  aspiring  want  to 
know  what  is  behind  the  occupation  ; 
they  must  discover  the  spiritual 
necessity  of  work  before  they  are 
ready  to  bend  to  the  inevitable  yoke. 
Strong  natures  are  driven  by  the 
very  momentum  of  their  own  moral 
47 


Work  and  Culture 

impulse  to  explore  the  world  before 
they  build  in  it  and  unite  themselves 
with  it ;  the  imagination  must  be  fed 
with  beauty  and  truth  before  they 
are  content  to  choose  their  task  and 
tools.  It  is  often  a  sign  of  greatness 
in  a  man  that  he  does  not  quickly  fit 
into  his  place  or  easily  find  his  work. 
Let  him  look  well  at  the  stars  before 
he  bends  to  his  task;  he  will' need 
to  remember  them  when  the  days  of 
toil  come,  as  they  must  come,  at 
times,  to  every  man.  Let  him  see 
the  world  with  his  own  eyes  before 
he  gives  to  fortune  those  hostages 
which  hold  him  henceforth  fast-bound 
in  one  place. 

It  is  as  natural  for  ardent  and 
courageous  youth  to  wish  to  know 
what  is  in  life,  what  it  means,  and 
what  it  holds  for  its  children,  as  for  a 
child  to  reach  for  and  search  the  things 
48 


The  Year  of  Wandering 

that  surround  and  attract  it.  Be 
hind  every  real  worker  in  the  world 
is  a  real  man,  and  a  man  has  a  right 
to  know  the  conditions  under  which 
he  must  live,  and  the  choices  of 
knowledge,  power,  and  activity  which 
are  offered  him.  In  the  education  of 
many  men  and  women,  therefore, 
there  comes  the  year  of  wandering ; 
the  experience  of  travelling  from 
knowledge  to  knowledge  and  from 
occupation  to  occupation.  There 
are  men  and  women,  it  is  true,  who 
are  born  under  conditions  so  free  and 
prosperous  that  the  choice  of  work 
is  made  almost  instinctively  and 
unconsciously,  and  apprenticeship 
merges  into  mastery  without  any 
intervening  agitation  or  uncertainty. 
At  long  intervals  Nature  not  only 
sends  a  great  talent  into  the  world, 
but  provides  in  advance  for  its  train- 
49 


Work  and  Culture 

ing  and  for  its  steady  direction  and 
unfolding;  but  Nature  is  not  often 
so  minute  in  her  provision  for  her 
children.  Those  who  receive  most 
generously  from  her  hand  are,  for 
the  most  part,  compelled  to  discover 
their  gifts  and  find  their  places  in  the 
general  order  as  the  result  of  much 
searching,  and  often  of  many  failures. 
And  even  in  the  most  harmonious 
natures  the  elements  of  agitation  and 
ferment  are  rarely  absent.  The 
forces  which  go  to  the  making  of  a 
powerful  man  can  rarely  be  adjusted 
and  blended  without  some  disturb 
ance  of  relations  and  conditions. 
This  disturbance  is  sometimes  in 
jurious,  because  it  affects  the  moral 
foundations  upon  which  character 
rests  ;  and  for  this  reason  the  signifi 
cance  of  the  experience  in  its  relation 
to  development  ought  to  be  sympa- 
50 


The  Year  of  Wandering 


D 


thetically  studied.  The  birth  of  the 
imagination  and  of  the  passions,  the 
perception  of  the  richness  of  life,  and 
the  consciousness  of  the  possession  of 
the  power  to  master  and  use  that 
wealth,  create  a  critical  moment  in  the 
history  of  youth,  —  a  moment  richer 
in  possibilities  of  all  kinds  than  comes 
at  any  later  period.  Agitation  and 
ferment  of  soul  are  inevitable  in  that 
wonderful  moment.  It  is  as  idle  to 
ask  youth  to  be  calm  and  contented 
in  that  supreme  moment  as  to  ask 
the  discoverer  who  is  catching  his 
first  glimpse  of  a  new  continent  to 
avoid  excitement.  There  are  times 
when  agitation  is  as  normal  as  is 
self-control  at  other  and  less  critical 
times.  There  are  days  in  June  when 
Nature  seems  to  betray  an  almost 
riotous  prodigality  of  energy ;  but 
that  prodigality  is  always  well  within 
S1 


Work  and  Culture 

the  limits  of  order.  In  youth  that 
which  is  to  be  feared  is  not  the  ex 
plosive  force  of  vitality,  but  its  wrong 
direction  ;  and  it  is  at  this  crisis  that 
youth  so  often  makes  its  mute  and 
unavailing  appeal  to  maturity.  The 
man  who  has  left  his  year  of  wander 
ing  behind  him  forgets  its  joys  and 
perils,  and  regards  it  as  a  deflection 
from  a  course  which  is  now  perfectly 
plain,  although  it  may  once  have  been 
confused  and  uncertain.  He  is  criti 
cal  and  condemnatory  where  he  ought 
to  be  sympathetic  and  helpful.  If  he 
reflects  and  comprehends,  he  will  hold 
out  the  hand  of  fellowship ;  for  he 
will  understand  that  the  year  of  wan 
dering  is  not  a  manifestation  of  aim- 
lessness,  but  of  aspiration,  and  that  in 
its  ferment  and  uncertainty  youth  is 
often  guided  to  and  finally  prepared 
for  its  task. 

52 


Chapter  VI 

The  Ultimate  Test 

"  T  HAVE  cut  more  than  one  field 
JL  of  oats  and  wheat,"  writes  M. 
Charles  Wagner,  "  cradled  for  long 
hours  under  the  August  sky  to  the 
slow  cadence  of  the  blade  as  it  swung 
to  and  fro,  laying  low  at  every  stroke 
the  heavy  yellow  heads.  I  have 
heard  the  quail  whistle  in  the  distant 
fields  beyond  the  golden  waves  of 
wheat  and  the  woods  that  looked 
blue  above  the  vines.  I  have  thought 
of  the  clamours  of  mankind,  of  the 
oven-like  cities,  of  the  problems 
which  perplex  the  age,  and  my  in 
sight  has  grown  clearer.  Yes,  I  am 
positive  that  one  of  the  great  cura 
tives  of  our  evils,  our  maladies,  social, 
53 


Work  and  Culture 

moral,  and  intellectual,  would  be  a 
return  to  the  soil,  a  rehabilitation  of 
the  work  of  the  fields."  In  these 
characteristically  ardent  words  one  of 
the  noblest  Frenchmen  of  the  day 
has  brought  out  a  truth  of  general 
application.  To  come  once  more  into 
personal  relations  with  mother  earth  is 
to  secure  health  of  body  and  of  mind  ; 
and  with  health  comes  clarity  of 
vision.  To  touch  the  soil  as  a  worker 
is  to  set  all  the  confined  energies  of 
the  body  free,  to  incite  all  its  func 
tions  to  normal  activity,  to  secure 
that  physical  harmony  which  results 
from  a  full  and  normal  play  of  all  the 
physical  forces  on  an  adequate  object. 
In  like  manner,  true  work  of  mind 
or  technical  skill  brings  peace,  com 
posure,  sanity,  to  one  to  whom  the 
proper  outlet  of  his  energy  has  been 
denied.  To  youth,  possessed  by  an 
£4 


The  Ultimate  Test 

almost  riotous  vitality,  with  great  but 
unused  powers  of  endurance  and  of 
positive  action,  the  finding  of  its  task 
means  concentration  of  energy  instead 
of  dissipation,  directness  of  action  in 
stead  of  indecision,  conscious  increase 
of  power  instead  of  deepened  sense  of 
inefficiency,  and  the  happiness  which 
rises  like  a  pure  spring  from  the 
depths  of  the  soul  when  the  whole 
nature  is  poised  and  harmonised. 
The  torments  of  uncertainty,  the 
waste  and  disorder  of  the  period  of 
ferment,  give  place  to  clear  vision, 
free  action,  natural  growth.  There 
are  few  moments  in  life  so  intoxicat 
ing  as  those  which  follow  the  final 
discovery  of  the  task  one  is  appointed 
to  perform.  It  is  a  true  home-com 
ing  after  weary  and  anxious  wander 
ing  ;  it  is  the  lifting  of  the  fog  off  a 
perilous  coast ;  it  is  the  shining  of 
55 


Work  and  Culture 

the    sun     after     days    of    shrouded 
sky. 

The  "  storm  and  stress  "  period  is 
always  interesting  because  it  predicts 
the  appearance  of  a  new  power; 
and  men  instinctively  love  every 
evidence  of  the  greatness  of  the  race, 
as  they  instinctively  crave  the  dis 
closure  of  new  truth.  In  the  reaction 
against  the  monotony  of  formalism 
and  of  that  deadly  conventionalism 
which  is  the  peril  of  every  accepted 
method  in  religion,  art,  education,  or 
politics,  men  are  ready  to  welcome 
any  revolt,  however  extravagant.  Too 
much  life  is  always  better  than  too 
little,  and  the  absurdities  of  young 
genius  are  nobler  than  the  selfish  pru 
dence  of  aged  sagacity.  The  wild  days 
at  Weimar  which  Klopstock  looked  at 
askance,  and  not  without  good  rea 
son  ;  the  excess  of  passion  and  action 
56 


The  Ultimate  Test 

in  Schiller's  "  Robbers  ;  "  the  turbu 
lence  of  the  young  Romanticists,  with 
long  hair  and  red  waistcoats,  crowd 
ing  the  Theatre  Fra^ais  to  compel 
the  acceptance  of  "  Hernani," — these 
stormy  dawns  of  the  new  day  in  art 
are  always  captivating  to  the  imagi 
nation.  Their  interest  lies,  however, 
not  in  their  turbulence  and  disorder, 
but  in  their  promise.  If  real  achieve 
ments  do  not  follow  the  early  out 
break,  the  latter  are  soon  forgotten ; 
if  they  herald  a  new  birth  of  power, 
they  are  fixed  in  the  memory  of  a 
world  which,  however  slow  and  cold, 
loves  to  feel  the  fresh  impulse  of  the 
awakening  human  spirit.  The  wild 
days  at  Weimar  were  the  prelude  to 
a  long  life  of  sustained  energy  and 
of  the  highest  productivity ;  "  The 
Robbers "  was  soon  distanced  and 
eclipsed  by  the  noble  works  of  one 
57 


Work  and  Culture 

of  the  noblest  of  modern  spirits  ;  and 
to  the  extravagance  of  the  ardent 
French  Romanticists  of  1832  suc 
ceeded  those  great  works  in  verse 
and  prose  which  have  made  the  last 
half-century  memorable  in  French  lit 
erary  history. 

It  is  the  fruitage  of  work,  not  the 
wild  play  of  undirected  energy,  which 
gives  an  epoch  its  decisive  influence 
and  a  man  his  place  and  power.  Both 
aspects  of  the  "  storm  and  stress " 
period  need  to  be  kept  in  mind. 
When  it  is  tempted  to  condemn  too 
sternly  the  extravagance  of  such  a 
period,  society  will  do  well  to  recall 
how  often  this  undirected  or  ill-di 
rected  play  of  energy  has  been  the 
forerunner  of  a  noble  putting  forth 
of  creative  power.  And  those  who 
are  involved  in  such  an  outpouring 
of  new  life,  on  the  other  hand,  will 
53 


The  Ultimate  Test 

do  well  to  remember  that  extrava 
gance  is  never  the  sign  of  art ;  that 
licence  is  never  the  liberty  which  sets 
free  the  creative  force;  that  "storm 
and  stress "  is,  at  the  best,  only  a 
promise  of  sound  work ;  and  that  its 
importance  and  reality  depend  en 
tirely  upon  the  fruit  it  bears. 

The  decisive  test,  in  other  words, 
comes  when  a  man  deals,  in  patience 
and  fidelity,  with  the  task  which  is 
set  before  him.  Up  to  this  point 
his  life,  however  rich  and  varied,  has 
been  a  preparation  ;  now  comes  that 
final  trial  of  strength  which  is  to  bring 
into  clear  light  whatever  power  is  in 
him,  be  that  power  great  or  small. 
If  work  had  no  other  quality,  the  fact 
that  it  settles  a  man's  place  among 
men  would  invest  it  with  the  highest 
dignity ;  for  a  man's  place  can  be 
determined  only  by  a  complete  un- 
59 


Work  and  Culture 

folding  and  measurement  of  all  the 
powers  that  are  in  him,  and  this  pro 
cess  of  development  must  have  all 
the  elements  of  the  highest  moral 
process.  So  great,  indeed,  is  the  im 
portance  of  work  from  this  point  of 
view  that  it  seems  to  involve,  under 
the  appearance  of  a  provisional  judg 
ment,  the  weight  and  seriousness  of 
a  final  judgment  of  men.  Such  a 
judgment,  as  every  man  knows  who 
has  the  conscience  either  of  a  moral 
ist  or  of  an  artist,  is  being  hourly 
registered  in  the  growth  which  is 
silently  accomplished  through  the 
steady  and  skilful  doing  of  one's 
work,  or  in  the  gradual  but  inevitable 
decline  and  decay  which  accompany 
and  follow  the  slovenly,  indifferent,  or 
unfaithful  performance  of  one's  task. 

We    make    or    unmake    ourselves 
by    and    through    our   work ;    mar- 
60 


The  Ultimate  Test 

ring  our  material  and  spiritual  for 
tunes  or  discovering  and  possessing 
them  at  will.  The  idle  talk  about 
the  play  of  chance  in  the  world,  the 
futile  attempt  to  put  on  the  broad 
back  of  circumstances  that  burden  of 
responsibility  which  rests  on  our  own 
shoulders,  deceives  no  man  in  his 
saner  moments.  The  outward  fruits 
of  success  are  not  always  within  our 
reach,  no  matter  how  strenuous  our 
struggles  to  pluck  them ;  but  that  in 
ward  strength,  of  which  all  forms  of 
outward  prosperity  are  but  visible 
evidences,  lies  within  the  grasp  of 
every  true  worker.  Fidelity,  skill, 
energy  —  the  noble  putting  forth  of 
one's  power  in  some  worthy  form  of 
work  —  never  fail  of  that  unfolding 
of  the  whole  man  in  harmonious 
strength  which  is  the  only  ultimate 
and  satisfying  form  of  success. 
61 


Chapter  VII 

Liberation 

WORK  is  the  most  continuous 
and  comprehensive  form  of 
action ;  that  form  which  calls  into 
play  and  presses  into  steady  service 
the  greatest  number  of  gifts,  skills, 
and  powers.  Into  true  work,  there 
fore,  a  man  pours  his  nature  without 
measure  or  stint ;  and  in  that  pro 
cess  he  comes  swiftly  or  slowly  to  a 
clear  realisation  of  himself.  Work 
sets  him  face  to  face  with  himself. 
So  long  as  he  is  getting  ready  to 
work  he  cannot  measure  his  power, 
nor  take  full  account  of  his  resources 
of  skill,  intelligence,  and  moral  en 
durance  ;  but  when  he  has  closed 
with  his  task  and  put  his  entire  force 
62 


Liberation 

into  the  doing  of  it,  he  comes  to  an 
understanding  not  only  of  but  with 
himself.  Under  the  testing  process 
of  actual  contact  with  materials  and 
obstacles,  his  strength  and  his  weak 
ness  are  revealed  to  him ;  he  learns 
what  lies  within  his  power  and  what 
lies  beyond  it ;  he  takes  accurate 
account  of  his  moral  force,  and  meas 
ures  himself  with  some  degree  of  ac 
curacy  against  a  given  task  or  under 
taking  ;  he  discovers  his  capacity  for 
growth,  and  begins  to  see,  through 
the  mist  of  the  future,  how  far  he  is 
likely  to  go  along  the  road  he  has 
chosen.  He  discerns  his  lack  of  skill 
in  various  directions,  and  knows  how 
to  secure  what  he  needs  ;  in  countless 
ways  he  measures  himself  and  comes 
to  know  himself. 

For  work    speedily    turns    inward 
power  into  outward  achievement^  and 
63 


Work  and  Culture 

so  makes  it  possible  to  take  accurate 
account  of  what  has  hitherto  lain 
wholly  within  the  realm  of  the  po 
tential.  In  a  very  deep  and  true 
sense  an  artist  faces  his  own  soul 
when  he  looks  at  his  finished  work. 
He  sees  a  bit  of  himself  in  every 
book,  painting,  statue,  or  other  pro 
duct  of  his  energy  and  skill.  What 
was  once  concealed  in  the  mystery 
of  his  own  nature  is  set  in  clear  light 
in  the  work  of  his  hands ;  the  reality 
or  unreality  of  his  aspirations  is  finally 
settled ;  the  question  of  the  posses 
sion  of  original  power  or  of  mere  fa 
cility  is  answered.  The  worker  is  no 
longer  an  unknown  force ;  he  has 
been  developed,  revealed,  measured, 
and  tested. 

In  this  process  one  of  his  highest 
gains  is  the  liberation  of  his  inward 
power   and    the   attainment   of  ,self- 
61 


Liberation 

knowledge  and  self-mastery.  No 
man  is  free  until  he  knows  himself, 
and  whatever  helps  a  man  to  come 
to  clear  understanding  of  himself 
helps  him  to  attain  freedom.  A  man 
does  not  command  his  resources  of 
physical  strength  until  he  has  so 
trained  and  developed  his  body  that 
each  part  supplements  every  other 
part  and  bears  the  strain  with  equal 
power  of  resistance.  When  every 
part  has  been  developed  to  its  high 
est  point  of  efficiency,  and  the  whole 
body  answers  the  command  of  the  will 
with  that  completeness  of  strength 
which  has  its  source  in  harmony  of 
parts  through  unity  of  development, 
the  man  has  come  into  full  posses 
sion  of  his  physical  resources.  In  like 
manner  a  man  comes  into  complete 
mastery  of  himself  when  through 
self-knowledge  he  presses  every  force 
5  65 


Work  and  Culture 

and  faculty  into  activity,  and  through 
activity  secures  for  each  its  ultimate 
perfection  of  power  and  action. 

When  every  force  within  has  been 
developed  to  its  highest  efficiency, 
complete  liberation  has  been  effected. 
The  perfectly  developed  and  trained 
man  would  have  the  poise  and  peace 
which  come  from  the  harmonious  ex 
pression  of  the  soul  through  every 
form  of  activity,  and  the  freedom 
which  is  the  result  of  complete  com 
mand  of  all  one's  resources  and  the 
power  to  use  them  at  will.  This  ul 
timate  stage  of  power  and  freedom 
has,  perhaps,  never  been  attained  by 
any  worker  under  the  conditions  of 
this  present  life ;  but  in  the  exact 
degree  in  which  the  worker  ap 
proaches  this  ideal  does  he  secure 
his  own  freedom.  The  untrained 
man,  whose  sole  resource  is  some 
66 


Liberation 

kind  of  unskilled  labour,  is  in  bond 
age  to  the  time  and  place  in  which 
and  at  which  he  finds  himself,  and  to 
the  opportunities  and  rewards  close 
at  hand ;  the  trained  man  has  the 
freedom  of  the  whole  world  of  work. 
Michael  Angelo  receives  commissions 
from  princes  and  popes ;  Velasquez 
paints  with  kings  looking  over  his 
shoulder  ;  Tesla  can  choose  the  place 
where  he  will  work  ;  Mr.  Gladstone 
would  have  found  fame  and  fortune 
at  the  end  of  almost  any  road  he 
chose  to  take.  In  the  case1  of  each 
of  these  great  workers  inward  power 
was  matured  and  harmonised  by  out 
ward  work,  and  through  work  each 
achieved  freedom. 

No  man  is  free  until  he  can  dis 
pose  of  himself;    until  he  is  sought 
after  instead  of  seeking ;  until,  in  the 
noblest  sense  of  the  words,  he  com- 
67 


Work  and  Culture 

mands  his  own  price  in  the  world. 
There  are  men  in  every  generation 
who  push  this  self-development  and 
self-mastery  so  far,  and  who  obtain 
such  a  large  degree  of  freedom  in 
consequence,  that  the  keys  of  all 
doors  are  open  to  them.  We  call 
such  men  masters,  not  to  suggest 
subjection  to  them,  but  as  an  instinc 
tive  recognition  of  the  fact  that  they 
have  secured  emancipation  from  the 
limitations  from  which  most  men 
never  escape.  In  a  world  given  over 
to  apprenticeship  these  heroic  spirits 
have  attained  the  degree  of  master 
ship.  They  have  not  been  carried  to 
commanding  positions  by  happy  tides 
of  favourable  circumstance  ;  they  have 
not  stumbled  into  greatness ;  they 
have  attained  what  they  have  secured 
and  they  hold  it  by  virtue  of  superior 
intelligence,  skill,  and  power.  They 
68 


Liberation 

possess  more  freedom  than  their  fel 
lows  because  they  have  worked  with 
finer  insight,  with  steadier  persistence, 
and  with  more  passionate  enthusiasm. 
They  are  masters  because  they  are 
free ;  but  their  freedom  was  bought 
with  a  great  price. 


69 


Chapter  VIII 

The  Larger  Education 

THE  old  idea  that  the  necessity 
of  working  was  imposed  upon 
men  as  a  punishment  is  responsible, 
in  large  measure,  for  the  radical  mis 
understanding  of  the  function  and 
uses  of  work  which  has  so  widely 
prevailed.  In  the  childhood  of  the 
world  a  garden  for  innocence  to  play 
in  secured  the  consummation  of  all 
deep  human  longings  for  happiness  ; 
but  there  is  a  higher  state  than  inno 
cence  :  there  is  the  state  to  which 
men  attain  through  knowledge  and 
trial.  Knowledge  involves  great 
perils,  but  it  is  better  than  innocu 
ous  ignorance  ;  virtue  involves  grave 
dangers,  but  it  is  nobler  than  inno- 
70 


The  Larger  Education 

cence.  Character  cannot  be  secured 
if  choice  between  higher  and  lower 
aims  is  denied ;  and  without  charac 
ter  the  world  would  be  meaningless. 
There  can  be  no  unfolding  of  charac 
ter  without  growth,  and  growth  is 
inconceivable  without  the  aid  of 
work.  The  process  of  self-expression 
through  action  is  wrought,  therefore, 
into  the  very  structure  of  man's  life ; 
it  is  not  a  penalty,  but  a  spiritual 
opportunity  of  the  highest  order.  It 
is  the  most  comprehensive  educa 
tional  process  to  which  men  are 
subjected,  and  it  has  done  more, 
probably,  than  all  other  processes  to 
lift  the  moral  and  social  level  of  the 
race. 

Instead    of   being   a    prison,   the 
workshop  has  been  a  place  of  train 
ing,  discipline,  and  education.     The 
working  races  have  been  the  victori- 
71 


Work  and  Culture 

ous  races ;  the  non-working  races 
have  been  the  subject  races.  Wan 
dering  peoples  who  trust  to  what 
may  be  called  geographical  luck  for 
a  living  often  develop  strong  individ 
ual  qualities  and  traits,  but  they 
never  develop  a  high  degree  of  social 
or  political  organisation,  nor  do  they 
produce  literature  and  art.  The 
native  force  of  imagination  which 
some  semi-civilised  races  seem  to 
possess  never  becomes  creative  until 
it  is  developed  and  directed  by  train 
ing.  Education  is  as  essential  to 
greatness  of  achievement  in  any  field 
as  the  possession  of  gifts  of  genius. 
An  untrained  race,  like  an  untrained 
man,  is  always  at  an  immense  disad 
vantage,  not  only  in  the  competition 
of  the  world,  but  in  the  working  out 
of  individual  destiny.  The  necessity 
for  work  is  so  far  from  being  a 
72 


The  Larger  Education 

penalty  that  it  must  be  counted  the 
highest  moral  opportunity  open  to 
men,  and,  therefore,  one  of  the 
divinest  gifts  offered  to  the  race. 
The  apparent  freedom  of  nomadic 
peoples  is  seen,  upon  closer  view,  to 
be  a  very  hard  and  repulsive  bond 
age  ;  the  apparent  servitude  of  work 
ing  peoples  is  seen  to  be,  upon  closer 
view,  an  open  road  to  freedom. 

There  is  no  real  freedom  save  that 
which  is  based  upon  discipline.  The 
chance  to  do  as  one  pleases  is  not 
liberty,  as  so  many  people  imagine  ; 
liberty  involves  knowledge,  self- 
mastery,  capacity  for  exertion,  power 
of  resistance.  Emerson  uncovered 
the  fundamental  conception  when  he 
declared  that  character  is  our  only 
definition  of  freedom  and  power. 
Now,  character  is  always  the  product 
of  an  educational  process  of  some 
73 


Work  and  Culture 

kind ;  its  production  involves  tests, 
trials,  temptations,  toils.  It  does 
not  represent  innocence,  but  that 
which  is  higher  and  more  difficult  of 

C2 

attainment,  virtue.  Innocence  is  the 
starting-point  in  life ;  virtue  is  the 
goal.  Between  these  two  points  lies 
that  arduous  education  which  is 
effected,  for  most  men,  chiefly  by 
and  through  work.  In  comparison 
with  the  field,  the  shop,  the  factory, 
the  mine,  and  the  sea,  the  school  has 
educated  a  very  inconsiderable  num 
ber;  the  vast  majority  of  the  race 
have  been  trained  by  toil.  On  the 
farm,  in  the  innumerable  factories,  in 
offices  and  stores,  on  sea-going  craft 
of  all  kinds,  and  in  the  vast  field  of 
land  transportation,  the  race,  as  a 
rule,  has  had  its  education  in  those 
elemental  qualities  which  make  or 
ganised  society  possible.  When  the 
74 


The  Larger  Education 

race  goes  to  its  work  in  the  morning, 
it  goes  to  its  school ;  and  the  chief 
result  of  its  toil  is  not  that  which  it 
makes  with  its  hands,  but  that  which 
it  slowly  and  unconsciously  creates 
within  itself.  It  is  concerned  with 
the  product  of  its  toil ;  with  soil, 
seed,  or  grain ;  with  wood,  paper, 
metal,  or  stone ;  with  processes  and 
forces ;  but  in  the  depths  of  the 
worker's  nature  there  is  a  moral 
deposit  of  habit,  quality,  temper, 
which  is  the  invisible  moral  result  of 
his  toil.  The  real  profit  of  a  day's 
work  in  the  world  can  never  be 
estimated  in  terms  of  money ;  it 
can  be  estimated  only  in  terms  of 
character. 

The  regularity,  promptness,  obedi 
ence,  fidelity,  and  skill  demanded  in 
every   kind    of  work,  skilled  or  un 
skilled,  compels  the  formation  of  a 
75 


Work  and  Culture 

certain  degree  of  character.  No 
worker  can  keep  his  place  who 
does  not  develop  certain  moral  quali 
ties  in  connection  with  his  work. 
Honesty,  truthfulness,  sobriety,  and 
skill  are  essential  to  the  most  ele 
mentary  success,  —  the  getting  of  the 
b:ire  necessities  of  life;  and  these 
fundamental  qualities,  upon  which 
organised  society  rests  as  on  an 
immovable  foundation,  are  the  silent 
deposit  of  the  work  of  the  world. 
Through  what  seems  to  be  the  bond 
age  of  toil  the  race  is  emancipated 
from  the  ignorance,  the  licence,  and 
the  dull  monotony  of  savagery ; 
through  what  seems  to  be  a  purely 
material  dealing  with  insensate  things 
men  put  themselves  in  the  way  of 
the  most  thorough  moral  training. 

The    necessity    of  working    gives 
society  steadiness  and  stability  ;  when 
76 


The  Larger  Education 

large  populations  are  freed  from  this 
necessity,  irresponsible  mobs  take  the 
place  of  orderly  citizens,  and  the 
crowd  of  idlers  must  be  fed  and 
amused  to  be  kept  out  of  mischief. 
A  man  can  never  be  idle  with  safety 
and  advantage  until  he  has  been  so 
trained  by  work  that  he  makes  his 
freedom  from  times  and  tasks  more 
fruitful  than  his  toil  has  been.  When 
work  has  disciplined  a  man,  he  may 
safely  be  left  to  himself;  for  he  will 
not  only  govern  himself,  but  he  will 
also  employ  himself.  There  are 
few  worse  elements  in  society  than 
an  idle  leisure  class,  —  a  body  of  men 
and  women  who  make  mere  recrea 
tion  the  business  of  living,  and  so 

cv 

reverse  or  subvert  the  natural  order 
of  life. 

On   the  other   hand,  there   is  no 
more   valuable     element    in    society 

77 


Work  and  Culture 

than  a  working  leisure  class,  —  a  body 
of  men  and  women  who,  emancipated 
from  the  harder  and  more  mechani 
cal  work  of  the  world,  give  them 
selves  to  the  higher  activities  and 
enrich  the  common  life  by  intelli 
gence,  beauty,  charm  of  habit  and 
manners,  dignity  of  carriage,  and  dis 
tinction  of  character  and  taste.  So 
long  as  men  need  other  food  than 
bread,  and  have  higher  necessities 
than  those  of  the  body,  a  leisure 
class  will  be  essential  to  the  richest 
and  completest  social  development. 
What  society  does  not  need  is  an 
idle  class. 


Chapter  IX 

Fellowship 

THE  comradeship  of  work  is  an 
element  which  is  rarely  taken 
into  account,  but  which  is  of  great  im 
portance  from  many  points  of  view. 
Men  who  work  together  have  not 
only  the  same  interests,  but  are  likely 
to  develop  a  kinship  of  thought  and 
feeling.  Their  association  extends 
beyond  working  hours,  and  includes 
their  higher  and  wider  interests. 
There  seems  to  be  something  in  the 
putting  forth  of  effort  upon  the  same 
material  or  for  the  same  end  which 
binds  men  together  with  ties  which 
are  not  wholly  the  result  of  prox 
imity.  Those  who  have  given  no 
thought  to  the  educational  side  of 
79 


Work  and  Culture 

work,  and  who  are  ignorant  that  it 
has  such  a  side,  are,  nevertheless, 
brought  within  the  unifying  influence 
of  a  process  which,  using  mainly  the 
hands  and  the  feet,  is  insensibly  train 
ing  the  whole  nature. 

There  is  a  deeper  unity  in  the  work 
of  the  world  than  has  been  clearly 
understood  as  yet ;  there  is  that  vital 
unity  which  binds  together  those  who 
are  not  only  engaged  in  a  common 
task,  but  who  are  also  involved  in  a 
common  spiritual  process.  The  very 
necessity  of  work  carries  with  it  the 
implication  of  an  incomplete  world 
and  an  imperfectly  developed  society. 
The  earth  was  not  finished  when  it 
was  made  ready  for  the  appearance 
of  man;  it  will  not  be  finished  until 
man  has  done  with  it.  In  the  mak 
ing  of  the  world  man  has  his  part ; 
here,  as  elsewhere,  he  meets  God  and 
80 


Fellowship 

co-operates  with  him  ;  the  divine  and 
the  human  combining  to  perfect  the 
process  of  unfolding  and  evolution. 
Until  the  work  of  men  has  developed 
it,  the  earth  is  raw  material.  It  is  full 
of  power,  but  that  power  is  not  con 
served  and  directed  ,  it  is  full  of  the 
potentialities  of  fertility,  but  there  are 
no  harvests  ;  all  manner  of  possibili 
ties  both  of  material  and  spiritual 
uses  are  in  it,  —  food,  ore,  force, 
beauty,  —  but  these  possibilities  must 
await  the  skill  of  man  before  they 
can  be  turned  into  wealth,  comfort, 
art,  civilisation.  God  gives  the  earth 
as  a  mine,  and  man  must  work  it ;  as 
a  field,  and  man  must  till  it ;  as  a 
reservoir  of  force,  and  man  must 
make  connection  with  it  ;  as  the 
rough  material  out  of  which  order, 
symmetry,  utility,  beauty,  culture 
may  be  wrought,  and  men  must  un- 
6  81 


Work  and  Culture 

fold  these  higher  uses  by  intelligence, 
skill,  toil,  and  character.  At  some 
time  every  particle  of  the  civilised 
world  has  been  like  the  old  frontier 
on  this  continent,  and  men  have  re 
claimed  either  the  desert  or  the  wil 
derness  by  their  heroic  sacrifices  and 
labours.  It  is  a  misuse  of  language, 
therefore,  to  say  that  the  world  is 
made ;  it  is  not  made,  because  it  is  be 
ing  made  century  by  century  through 
the  toil  of  successive  generations. 

Now,  this  creative  process,  in  which 
God  and  men  unite,  is  what  we  call 
work.  It  is  not  a  process  introduced 
among  men  as  an  afterthought  or 
as  a  form  of  punishment ;  it  was 
involved  in  the  initial  creative  act, 
and  it  is  part  of  the  complete  crea 
tive  act.  The  conception  of  a  pro 
cess  of  development  carries  with  it  the 
idea,  not  of  a  finished  but  of  an  un- 
82 


Fellowship 

finished  world ;  it  interprets  history 
not  as  a  record  of  persons  and  events 
separate  from  the  stage  upon  which 
they  appear,  like  actors  on  the  boards, 
but  as  the  story  of  the  influence  of  an 
unfinished  world  upon  an  undevel 
oped  race,  and  of  the  marvellous  un 
folding  through  which  the  hidden 
powers  and  qualities  of  the  material 
and  the  worker  are  brought  into  play. 
Work  becomes,  therefore,  not  only  a 
continuation  of  the  divine  activity  in 
the  world,  but  a  process  inwrought 
in  the  very  constitution  of  that 
world.  Growth  is  the  divinest  ele 
ment  in  life,  and  work  is  one  of  the 
chief  factors  in  growth. 

The  earth  is,  therefore,  in  its  full 
unfolding  and  its  final  form,  the  joint 
product  of  the  love  and  power  of 
God  and  of  the  toil  and  sacrifice  of 
men ;  the  creative  purpose  is  not 
83 


Work  and  Culture 

accomplished  in  a  single  act ;  it  is 
being  wrought  out  through  a  long 
progression  of  acts;  and  in  this  con 
tinuous  process  God  and  men  are 
brought  together  in  a  way  which 
makes  the  labour  of  the  hand  the 
work  also  of  the  spirit.  If  one  re 
flects  on  all  that  this  intimate  co 
operation  of  the  divine  and  the 
human  in  the  fields,  the  factories, 
and  the  shops  means,  the  nobility  of 
work  and  its  possibilities  of  spiritual 
education  become  impressively  clear. 
In  this  fellowship  men  are  trained  in 
ways  of  which  they  are  insensible ; 
spiritual  results  are  accomplished 
within  them  of  which  they  are  un 
conscious.  The  Infinite  is  nowhere 
more  beneficently  present  than  in  the 
strain  and  anguish  of  toil;  and  the 
necessity  of  putting  forth  one's 
strength  in  some  form  of  activity 
84 


Fellowship 

is    not     a     hardship     but     a    divine 
opportunity. 

To  well-conditioned  men  work  is 
a  joy ;  under  normal  conditions,  for 
healthful  men,  it  is  always  a  joy. 
The  spiritual  meaning  behind  the 
hard  face  which  toil  wears  makes 
itself  dimly  understood  at  times,  and 
men  sing  at  their  tasks  not  only  out 
of  pure  exuberance  of  good  spirits 
and  sound  health,  but  because  there 
is  something  essentially  rhythmical 
and  harmonious  in  their  toil.  The 
song  of  the  sailor  at  the  windlass  is 
a  song  of  fellowship ;  an  expres 
sion  of  the  deepened  consciousness  of 
strength  and  exhilaration  which  come 
from  standing  together  in  a  joint  put 
ting  forth  of  strength.  When  a  man 
honestly  gives  himself  to  any  kind 
of  work  he  makes  himself  one  with 
his  fellows  in  the  creative  process ; 
85 


Work  and  Culture 

he  enters  into  deepest  fellowship  with 
the  race.  And,  as  in  the  intimacy  of 
the  family,  in  its  structure  and  habit, 
there  lies  a  very  deep  and  rich  educa 
tional  process,  so  in  the  community 
of  work  there  lies  a  training  and  en 
richment  which  go  to  the  very  centre 
of  the  individual  life.  The  ideal 
development  involves  harmonious 
adjustment  of  the  man  to  the  world, 
through  complete  development  of 
his  personality  and  through  complete 
unity  with  the  race ;  and  the  deepest 
and  most  fruitful  living  is  denied 
those  who  fail  of  entire  unfolding  in 
either  of  these  hemispheres,  which 
together  make  up  the  perfect  whole. 
In  genuine  culture  solitude  and 
society  must  both  find  place ;  a  man 
must  secure  the  strength  and  poise 
which  enable  him  to  stand  alone, 
and  he  must  also  unite  himself  in 
86 


Fellowship 

hand,  mind,  and  heart  with  his  fel 
lows.  In  isolation  the  finer  parts  of 
nature  wither;  in  fellowship  they 
bear  noble  fruitage.  To  work  in 
one's  day  with  one's  fellows ;  to 
accept  their  fortune,  bear  their  bur 
dens,  perform  their  tasks,  and  accept 
their  rewards  ;  to  be  one  with  them 
in  the  toil,  sorrow,  and  joy  of  life, — 
is  to  put  oneself  in  the  way  of 
the  richest  growth  and  the  purest 
happiness. 


Chapter  X 

Work  and  Pessimism 

WHEN  perils  thickened  about 
him  and  the  most  courageous 
grew  faint-hearted,  Francis  Drake's 
favourite  phrase  was :  "  It  matters  not; 
God  hath  many  things  in  store  for 
us."  No  man  ever  wore  a  more 
dauntless  face  in  the  presence  of  dan 
ger  than  the  great  adventurer  who 
destroyed  the  foundations  of  Spanish 
power  in  this  continent,  and  whose 
smile  always  grew  sweeter  as  the  sit 
uation  grew  more  desperate.  That 
smile  carried  the  conviction  of  ultimate 
safety  to  a  crew  which  was  often  on  the 
verge  of  despair;  its  serenity  and  con 
fidence  were  contagious  ;  it  conveyed 
the  impression,  in  the  blackest  hour, 
88 


Work  and  Pessimism 

that  the  leader  knew  some  secret  way 
of  escape  from  encircling  peril.  He 
knew,  as  a  rule,  no  more  than  his 
men  knew ;  but  as  danger  deepened, 
his  genius  became  energised  to  the 
utmost  quickness  of  discernment  and 
the  utmost  rapidity  of  action.  He 
had  no  time  for  despair ;  he  had  only 
time  for  decision  and  action.  In  his 
dying  hour,  on  a  hostile  sea,  half  a 
hemisphere  from  home,  he  arose, 
dressed  himself,  and  called  for  his 
arms ;  falling  before  the  only  foe  to 
whom  he  ever  yielded  with  the  same 
dauntless  courage  which  had  made 
him  the  master  of  untravelled  seas 
and  the  terror  of  a  continent.  He 
so  completely  identified  himself  with 
the  work  he  had  in  hand  that  he 
sapped  the  very  sources  of  fear. 

Such  heroic  self-forgetful  ness  is  not 
the  exclusive  possession  of  men  of  ac- 


Work  and  Culture 

tion ;  it  lies  within  the  reach  of  any 
man  who  is  strong  enough  to  grasp  it. 
Two  writers  of  our  time  have  nobly 
worn  this  jewel  of  courage  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world.  John  Addington  Sy- 
monds  was  for  many  years  an  invalid 
whose  life  hung  on  a  thread.  He  had 
youth,  gifts  of  a  high  order,  culture, 
ambition,  but  a  desolating  shadow 
blackened  the  landscape  of  his  life ; 
he  might  have  yielded  to  the  lassitude 
which  came  with  his  disease;  he  might 
have  become  embittered  and  poured 
his  sorrows  into  the  ear  of  the  world, 
as  too  many  less  burdened  men  and 
women  have  done  in  these  recent 
decades.  Instead  of  accepting  these 
weak  alternatives  and  wasting  his 
brief  years  in  useless  complainings, 
he  plucked  opportunity  out  of  the 
very  jaws  of  death  ;  found  in  the 
high  Alps  the  conditions  most  favour- 
go 


Work  and  Pessimism 

able  for  activity,  and  poured  his  life 
out  in  work  of  such  sustained  interest 
and  value  that  he  laid  the  English- 
reading  peoples  under  lasting  obliga 
tions.  In  spite  of  his  invalidism 
he  achieved  more  than  most  men 
who  live  out  the  full  period  of 
life  in  complete  possession  of  their 
powers. 

In  like  manner  disease  touched 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson  in  his  early 
prime,  and  would  have  daunted  a  spirit 
less  gallant  than  his.  He  bore  himself 
in  the  presence  of  death  as  a  dashing 
leader  bears  himself  in  the  presence 
of  an  overwhelming  foe  ;  he  was  in 
trepid,  but  he  was  also  wise.  He 
sought  such  alleviations  as  climates 
afforded  a  man  in  his  condition,  and 
then  gave  himself  to  his  work  with 
a  kind  of  passionate  ardour,  as  if  he 
would  pluck  the  very  heart  out  of 
9* 


Work  and  Culture 

time  and  toil  before  the  night  fell. 
Neither  of  these  men  was  blind  to  his 
condition  ;  neither  was  indifferent ; 
both  loved  life  and  both  had  their 
moments  of  revolt  and  depression  ; 
but  both  found  in  work  resource 
from  despair,  and  both  made  the 
world  richer  not  only  by  the  fruits 
of  self-conquest,  but  by  the  contagious 
power  of  heroic  example.  Such  ca 
reers  put  to  shame  the  self-centred, 
egotistic,  morbid  pessimism  which 
has  found  so  many  voices  in  recent 
years  that  its  cowardly  outcries  have 
almost  drowned  the  great,  sane,  au 
thoritative  voices  of  the  world. 

Despair  has  many  sources,  but  one 
of  its  chief  sources  is  the  attempt  to 
put  an  incomplete  in  the  place  of  a 
complete  life,  and  to  substitute  a  par 
tial  for  a  full  and  rounded  develop 
ment.  The  body  keeps  that  physical 
92 


Work  and  Pessimism 

unconsciousness  which  is  the  evidence 
of  health  only  so  long  as  every  part 
of  it  is  normally  used  and  exercised ; 
when  any  set  of  organs  is  ignored  and 
neglected,  some  form  of  disorder  be 
gins,  and  sooner  or  later  physical  self- 
consciousness  in  some  part  announces 
the  appearance  of  disease.  In  like 
manner,  intellectual  and  spiritual  self- 
unconsciousness,  which  is  both  the 
condition  and  the  result  of  complete 
intellectual  and  spiritual  health,  is 
preserved  only  so  long  as  a  man  lives 
freely  and  naturally  in  and  through 
all  his  activities.  Expression  of  the 
whole  nature  through  every  faculty  is 
essential  to  entire  sanity  of  mind  and 
spirit.  Every  violation  of  this  fun 
damental  law  is  followed  by  moral  or 
spiritual  disorder,  loss  of  balance,  de 
cline  of  power.  To  see  the  world 
with  clear  eyes,  as  Shakespeare  saw 
93 


Work  and  Culture 

it,  instead  of  seeing  it  through  dis 
torted  vision,  as  Paul  Verlaine  saw  it, 
one  must  think,  feel,  and  act.  To 
compress  one's  vital  power  into  any 
one  of  these  forms  or  channels  of  ex 
pression  is  to  limit  growth,  to  destroy 
the  balance  and  symmetry  of  devel 
opment,  to  lose  clarity  of  vision,  and 
to  invite  that  devastating  disease  of 
our  time  and  of  all  times,  morbid 
self-consciousness.  The  man  who 
lives  exclusively  in  thought  becomes 
a  theorist,  an  indifferent  observer,  or 
a  cynic ;  he  who  lives  exclusively  in 
feeling  becomes  a  sentimentalist  or  a 
pessimist;  he  who  lives  exclusively 
in  action  becomes  a  mere  executive 
energy,  a  pure  objective  force  in  so 
ciety.  These  types  are  found  in  all 
times,  and  exhibit  in  a  great  variety 
of  ways  the  perils  of  incomplete 
development. 

94 


Work  and  Pessimism 

In  our  time  the  chief  peril  for  men 
of  imagination  and  the  artistic  tem 
perament  comes  from  that  aloofness 
of  temper  which  separates  its  victim 
from  his  fellows,  isolates  him  in  the 
very  heart  of  society,  and  turns  his 
energy  inward  so  that  he  preys  upon 
himself.  The  root  of  a  great  deal  of 
that  pessimism  which  has  found  ex 
pression  in  modern  literature  is  found 
in  inactivity.  He  who  contents  him 
self  with  looking  at  life  as  a  spectator 
sees  its  appalling  contradictions  and 
its  baffling  confusions,  and  misses  the 
steadying  power  of  the  common  toil, 
the  comprehension  through  sympa 
thy,  the  slow  but  deep  unfolding  and 
education  which  come  from  parti 
cipation  in  the  world's  work.  He 
who  approaches  life  only  through  his 
feelings  is  bruised,  hurt,  and  finally 
exhausted  by  a  strain  of  emotion  un- 
95 


Work  and  Culture 

relieved  by  thought  and  action.  No 
man  is  sound  either  in  vision  or  in 
judgment  who  holds  himself  apart 
from  the  work  of  society.  Participa 
tion  in  that  work  not  only  liberates 
the  inward  energy  which  preys  upon 
itself  if  repressed ;  it  also,  through 
human  fellowship,  brings  warmth  and 
love  to  the  solitary  spirit  ;  above  all, 
it  so  identifies  the  man  with  outward 
activities  that  his  personal  force  finds 
free  access  to  the  world,  and  he  is 
delivered  from  the  peril  of  self-con 
sciousness.  He  who  cares  supremely 
for  some  worthy  activity  and  gives 
himself  to  it  has  no  time  to  reflect  on 
his  own  woes,  and  no  temptation  to 
exaggerate  his  own  claims.  He  sees 
clearly  that  he  is  an  undeveloped  per 
sonality  to  whom  the  supreme  op 
portunity  comes  in  the  guise  of  the 
discipline  of  work.  To  forget  one- 
96 


Work  and  Pessimism 

self  in  heroic  action  as  did  Drake, 
or  in  heroic  toil  as  did  Symonds 
and  Stevenson,  is  to  make  even 
disease  contribute  to  health  and 

mastery. 


97 


Chapter  XI 

The  Educational  Attitude 

F  B^HE  man  whose  life  is  intelli- 
JL  gently  ordered  is  always  pre 
paring  himself  for  the  highest  demands 
of  his  work  ;  he  is  not  only  doing  that 
work  with  adequate  skill  from  day  to 
day,  but  he  is  always  fitting  himself 
in  advance  for  more  exacting  and 
difficult  tasks. 

If  a  man  is  to  become  an  artist  in 
his  work,  his  specific  preparation  for 
particular  occasions  and  tasks  must 
be  part  of  a  general  preparation  for 
all  possible  occasions  and  tasks.  It 
is  not  only  impossible  to  foresee 
opportunities,  but  it  is  often  impos 
sible  to  recognise  their  importance 
98 


The  Educational  Attitude 

until  they  are  past.  It  is  well  to 
know  by  heart  Emerson's  significant 
lines,  — 

"  Daughters  of  Time,  the  hypocritic  Days, 
Muffled  and  dumb  like  barefoot  dervishes, 
And  marching  single  in  an  endless  file, 
Bring  diadems  and  fagots  in  their  hands. 
To  each  they  offer  gifts  after  his  will, 
Bread,    kingdoms,    stars,   and  sky  that  holds 

them  all. 

I,  in  my  pleached  garden,  watched  the  pomp, 
Forgot  my  mourning  wishes,  hastily 
Took  a  few  herbs  and  apples,  and  the  Day 
Turned  and  departed  silent.      I,  too  late, 
Under  her  solemn  fillet  saw  the  scorn." 

The  Days,  which  come  so  unob 
trusively  and  go  so  silently,  are  op 
portunities  in  disguise,  and  to  enable 
a  man  to  penetrate  that  disguise  and 
discern  the  royal  figure  in  the  meanest 
dress  is  one  of  the  great  ends  of  that 
education  which  must  always,  in  some 
99 


Work  and  Culture 

form,  precede  real  success.  For  noth 
ing  which  endures  is  ever  done  with 
out  some  kind  of  preliminary  training. 
Men  do  not  happen,  by  chance,  upon 
greatness ;  they  achieve  it.  Noble 
work  of  any  kind  is  the  fruit  of  labo 
rious  apprenticeship,  and  from  the 
higher  forms  of  success  the  idler  and 
the  amateur  are  for  ever  shut  out.  A 
man  often  enters  a  new  field  or  takes 
up  a  new  tool  with  surprising  facility 
and  power ;  but  in  these  cases  the 
man  is  only  carrying  into  a  fresh 
field  the  skill  already  acquired  else 
where.  It  has  sometimes  happened 
that  a  sudden  occasion  has  called  an 
obscure  man  to  his  feet,  and  he  has 
sat  down  famous.  In  such  instances 
it  is  the  custom  to  say  that  the  orator 
has  spoken  without  preparation  ;  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  man  knows  that 
he  has  been  all  his  life  preparing  for 

IOO 


The  Educational  Attitude 

that  critical  moment.  If  he  had  not 
risen  full  of  his  theme,  with  the  rich 
material  of  noble  speech  within  reach 
of  his  memory  or  imagination,  he 
would  have  left  the  hour  empty  and 
unmarked.  In  such  a  moment  a 
man  rises  as  high  as  the  reach  of  his 
nature  and  no  higher,  and  the  reach 
of  his  nature  depends  on  the  training 
he  has  given  himself. 

The  hour  for  commanding  speech 
comes  to  the  politician,  whose  study 
of  public  affairs  is  chiefly  a  study  of 
the  management  of  his  constituents, 
and  he  sits  down  as  empty  as  he 
arose  ;  the  same  hour,  arriving  unex 
pectedly  to  Burke  or  Webster,  draws 
upon  vast  accumulations  of  knowl 
edge,  thought,  and  illustration.  In 
the  famous  debate  with  Hayne,  Web 
ster  had  practically  but  one  day  in 
which  to  prepare  his  reply  to  his 

101 


Work  and  Culture 

persuasive  and  accomplished  adver 
sary  ;  but  when  he  spoke  it  was  to 
put  into  language  for  all  time  the 
deep  conviction  of  the  reality  of  the 
national  idea.  The  great  orator 
had  scant  time  to  make  ready  for  the 
greatest  opportunity  of  his  life,  but, 
in  reality,  he  had  been  preparing 
from  boyhood  to  make  that  immor 
tal  speech.  Brilliant  speeches  are 
often  made  extemporaneously ;  but 
such  speeches  are  never  made  with 
out  long  and  arduous  preparation. 
"  The  gods  sell  anything  and  to 
everybody  at  a  fair  price,"  says 
Emerson  ;  and  he  might  have  added 
that  they  give  nothing  away.  What 
ever  a  man  secures  in  the  way  of 
power  or  fame  he  pays  for  in  prelim 
inary  preparation  ;  nothing  is  given 
him  except  his  native  capacity  ;  every 
thing  else  he  must  pay  for.  To  rec- 


102 


The  Educational  Attitude 

ognise  opportunity  when  it  comes, 
or  to  make  the  highest  use  of  it 
when  it  is  not  to  be  recognised  at  the 
moment,  involves  constant  enrichment 
and  education  of  the  whole  nature. 

It  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  the 
higher  kind  of  success  to  make  life 
interesting,  and  this  secret  is  com 
mitted  mainly  to  those  who  get  the 
educational  value  of  events,  condi 
tions,  and  relationships.  The  man 
who  can  rationalise  his  entire  expe 
rience  is  in  the  way  of  learning  the 
deepest  lesson  of  life  and  of  keeping 
the  keenest  interest  in  all  its  hap 
penings.  A  mass  of  facts  exhausts 
and  wearies  the  student,  but  when 
they  fall  into  order,  disclose  connec 
tions,  and  reveal  truth  they  awaken 
enthusiasm.  The  body  of  fact  with 
out  the  soul  of  truth  is  a  dead  and 
repellent  thing ;  but  if  the  soul  of 
103 


Work  and  Culture 

truth  shine  through  straightway  it 
becomes  vital,  companionable,  stimu 
lating.  Now,  the  most  fruitful  prepa 
ration  for  opportunities  and  tasks  of 
all  degrees  of  importance  is  that  atti 
tude  towards  life  which  habitually 
secures  from  it  the  truth  behind  the 
experience  and  the  principle  behind 
the  fact.  Some  men  are  enriched  by 
everything  they  touch  because  they 
seem  instinctively  to  get  at  the  spirit 
ual  meaning  of  events ;  other  men 
get  nothing  but  material  results  from 
their  dealing  with  the  world.  One 
man  takes  nothing  off  his  broad  acres 
but  crops  ;  another  harvests  his  crops 
with  as  large  results,  but  harvests  also 
knowledge  of  the  chemistry  of  nature, 
appreciation  of  the  landscape  beyond 
his  own  fields,  and  those  qualities  of 
character  which  have  their  root  in 
honest  work  in  the  open  fields. 
104 


The  Educational  Attitude 

A  striking  difference  is  discernible 
between  two  classes  of  men  of  busi 
ness  ;  one  class  is  shrewd,  keen,  suc 
cessful,  but  entirely  uninteresting, 
because  it  fastens  its  attention  exclu 
sively  upon  the  bare,  hard  facts  of 
the  situation ;  the  other  class  is  not 
only  equally  successful,  but  possesses 
a  rare  interest,  because  it  penetrates 
behind  the  facts  of  trade  to  the  laws 
of  trade,  studies  general  conditions, 
and  continually  deals  with  the  situa 
tion  from  the  point  of  view  of  large 
intelligence.  No  human  being  is  so 
entirely  devoid  of  interest  to  his  fel 
lows  as  the  trader  who  barters  one 
commodity  for  another  without  any 
comprehension  of  higher  values  or 
wider  connections  ;  on  the  other  hand, 
few  men  are  more  interesting  than  the 
great  merchants  whose  vision  pene 
trates  to  the  principles  behind  busi- 


Work  and  Culture 

ness,  and  who  acquire  a  kind  of  wis 
dom  which  is  the  more  engaging 
because  it  is  constantly  verified  by 
contact  with  affairs.  The  man  who  is 
a  trader  never  gets  beyond  the  profit 
of  his  shrewd  bargain  ;  the  man  who 
trains  himself  to  study  general  con 
ditions  puts  himself  in  the  way,  not 
only  of  great  wealth,  but  of  leader 
ship  and  power. 

Behind  every  trade  and  occupation 
there  are  the  most  intimate  human 
connections  ;  beneath  every  trade  and 
occupation  there  are  deep  human  re 
lationships  ;  and  it  is  only  as  we  dis 
cern  these  fundamental  relations  and 
connections  that  we  get  at  a  true  con 
ception  of  the  magnitude  of  the  prac 
tical  activities  of  society  and  of  their 
significance  in  civilisation.  The  man 
who  treats  his  trade  as  mere  opportu 
nity  of  making  money,  without  tak- 
106 


The  Educational  Attitude 
incr  into  account  the  service  of  that 

o 
trade  to   men  or  its  relation  to    the 

totality  of  social  activities,  is  as  truly 
anti-social  in  his  spirit  and  methods 
as  an  anarchist.  Such  a  man  breaks 
society  into  selfish  fragments,  and 
turns  commerce  into  vulgar  barter 
ing.  The  penalty  of  such  a  sordid 
and  narrow  view  of  life  is  never 
evaded ;  the  trader  makes  gains  and 
often  swells  them  by  hoarding;  but 
he  rarely  secures  great  wealth,  — 
for  great  fortunes  are  built  by  brains 
and  force,  —  and  he  never  secures 
leadership.  He  who  is  to  win  the 
noblest  successes  in  the  world  of 
affairs  must  continually  educate  him 
self  for  larger  grasp  of  principles 
and  broader  grasp  of  conditions. 


107 


Chapter  XII 

Special  Training 

IT  is  a  very  superficial  conception 
of  workmanship  which  sets  it 
in  conflict  with  originality.  There  is 
often  an  inherent  antagonism  between 
the  impulse  for  freedom  and  spon 
taneity  which  is  characteristic  of 
genius,  and  a  conventional,  hard-and- 
fast  rule  or  method  of  securing  cer 
tain  technical  results ;  but  there  is 
no  antagonism  between  the  boldest 
originality  and  the  most  complete 
mastery  of  craftsmanship.  There  is, 
rather,  a  deep  and  vital  relationship 
between  the  two.  For  every  art  is 
a  language,  and  to  secure  power  and 
beauty  and  adequacy  of  expression  a 
man  must  command  all  the  secrets 
and  resources  of  the  form  of  speech 
1 08 


Special  Training 

which  he  has  chosen.  The  power  of 
the  great  artist  rests,  in  the  last 
analysis,  upon  the  freedom  with 
which  he  uses  his  material ;  and  this 
freedom  does  not  come  by  nature ; 
it  comes  by  training.  It  is  fatal  to 
the  highest  success  to  have  the  com 
mand  of  a  noble  language  and  to 
have  nothing  to  say  in  it ;  it  is 
equally  fatal  to  have  noble  thoughts 
and  to  lack  the  power  of  giving  them 
expression.  Technical  skill  is  not, 
therefore,  an  exterior,  mechanical 
possession  ;  it  is  the  fitting  of  tools 
and  material  to  heart  and  mind ;  it  is 
the  fruit  of  character;  it  is  the  evi 
dence  of  sincerity,  thoroughness, 
truthfulness. 

In  his  characteristically  suggestive 
comment    upon    the   Japanese   artist 
Hokusai,  Mr.  John  La  Farge  gives 
an   interesting  account  of  the  train- 
log 


Work  and  Culture 

ing  established  and  enforced  in  the 
school  of  the  Kanos,  a  family  of 
painters  which  survived  the  vicis 
situdes  of  more  than  four  cen 
turies.  The  course  of  study  in  a 
Kano  school  covered  at  least  ten 
years,  and  the  average  age  of  gradua 
tion  was  thirty.  The  rules  of  con 
duct  were  rigid;  the  manner  of  life 
simple  to  the  point  of  bareness ;  the 
discipline  of  work  severe  and  un 
broken.  During  the  first  year  and  a 
half  of  study  the  pupil  devoted  his 
entire  time  to  copying  certain  famous 
works  in  the  possession  of  the  school ; 
making,  in  the  first  instance,  a  copy 
from  the  picture  set  before  him,  and 
then  reproducing  his  own  copy  again 
and  again  until  every  stroke  and 
detail  was  thoroughly  comprehended 
and  mastered.  In  the  course  of 
eighteen  months  sixty  pictures  were 
no 


Special  Training 

studied  with  this  searching  thorough 
ness  ;  the  secrets  of  skill  in  each 
were  uncovered,  the  sources  of  beauty 
or  power  discerned ;  and  the  eye 
and  hand  of  the  pupil  gained  intelli 
gence,  quickness,  penetration.  Month 
after  month  passed  in  what  seemed 
to  be  a  monotony  of  mechanical 
imitation ;  but  in  this  arduous  and 
literal  reproduction  of  the  skill  of 
others  was  laid  the  sure  foundations 
of  individual  skill.  This  devout 
attention  to  methods  secured  for  a 
considerable  number  of  men  a  techni 
cal  expertness  for  which  we  look,  as 
a  rule,  only  in  the  work  of  the  great 
est  artists.  The  result  of  this  train 
ing  was  not  mechanical  skill,  but 
truth  and  freshness  of  observation. 
The  signature  of  the  artist  in  ques 
tion  reveals  not  an  imitative  but  an 
original  nature,  not  a  faculty  absorbed 


Work  and  Culture 

in  accuracy  but  in  passion  for  ex 
pression  :  "  Hokusai,  the  Old  Man 
Crazy  about  Painting." 

The  arduous  patience  of  these 
Oriental  students  of  painting  bore  its 
fruit  in  a  tradition  of  skill  which  was 
in  itself  an  immense  stimulus  to  the 
aspiring  and  ambitious  ;  it  established 
standards  of  craftsmanship  which  made 
the  possession  of  expert  knowledge 
a  necessity  on  the  part  of  every  one 
who  seriously  attempted  to  practice  the 
art.  Mr.  La  Farge  comments  upon 
the  level  of  superior  artistic  culture 
which  these  Japanese  artists  had  at 
tained.  They  had  advanced  their 
common  skill  so  far  that  a  superior 
man  began  at  a  great  height  of  attain 
ment,  and  was  compelled  to  exhibit 
power  of  a  very  rare  order  before 
he  could  claim  any  kind  of  prom 
inence  among  his  fellows. 


Special  Training 

The  establishment  of  such  a 
standard  in  any  art,  profession,  or 
occupation  has  the  immense  educa 
tional  value  of  making  clear  to  the 
student,  at  the  very  beginning  of  his 
career,  the  prime  importance  of  mas 
tering  in  detail  every  part  of  the 
work  which  he  has  undertaken  to  do. 
There  is  no  place  in  the  modern 
working  world  for  the  sloven,  the  in 
different,  or  the  unskilled ;  no  one 
can  hope  for  any  genuine  success  who 
fails  to  give  himself  the  most  thorough 
technical  preparation,  the  most  com 
plete  special  education.  Good  in 
tentions  go  for  nothing,  and  industry 
is  thrown  away,  if  one  cannot  infuse 
a  high  degree  of  skill  into  his  work. 
The  man  of  medium  skill  depends 
upon  fortunate  conditions  for  suc 
cess  ;  he  cannot  command  it,  nor  can 
he  keep  it.  In  the  fierce  competi- 

8  113 


Work  and  Culture 

tion  of  the  day  the  trained  man  has 
all  the  advantages  on  his  side ;  the 
untrained  man  invites  all  the  tragic 
possibilities  of  industrial  and  eco 
nomic  failure.  He  is  always  at  the 
mercy  of  conditions.  To  know  every 
detail,  to  gain  an  insight  into  every 
secret,  to  learn  every  method,  to 
secure  every  kind  of  skill,  are 
the  prime  necessities  of  success  in 
any  art,  craft,  or  trade.  No  time 
is  too  long,  no  study  too  hard,  no 
discipline  too  severe  for  the  attain 
ment  of  complete  familiarity  with 
one's  work  and  complete  ease  and 
skill  in  the  doing  of  it.  As  a  man 
values  his  working  life,  he  must  be 
willing  to  pay  the  highest  price  of 
success  in  it,  —  the  price  which  severe 
training  exacts. 

The   external   prosperity  which   is 
called  success  is  of  value  because  it 
114 


Special  Training 

evidences,  as  a  rule,  thoroughness 
and  ability  in  the  man  who  secures 
it,  and  because  it  supplies  the  ease 
of  body  and  of  mind  which  is  essen 
tial  to  the  fullest  and  most  effective 
putting  forth  of  one's  power ;  and 
the  sane  man,  even  while  he  sub 
ordinates  it  to  higher  things,  never 
entirely  ignores  or  neglects  success. 
The  possession  of  skill  is  to-day  the 
inexorable  condition  of  securing  this 
outward  prosperity ;  and,  as  a  rule, 
the  greater  a  man's  skill  the  more 
enduring  his  success.  But  skill  has 
other  and  deeper  uses  and  ends. 
Thoroughness  and  adequacy  in  the 
doing  of  one's  work  are  the  evidences 
of  the  presence  of  a  moral  conception 
in  the  worker's  mind  ;  they  are  the 
witnesses  to  the  pressure  of  his  con 
science  on  his  work.  Slovenly,  care 
less,  and  indifferent  work  is  dishonest 


Work  and  Culture 

and  untruthful ;  the  man  who  is  con 
tent  to  do  less  than  the  best  he  is 
capable  of  doing  for  any  kind  of 
compensation  —  money,  reputation, 
influence  —  is  an  immoral  man.  He 
violates  a  fundamental  law  of  life  by 
accepting  that  which  he  has  not 
earned. 

Skill  in  one's  art,  profession,  or 
trade  is  conscience  applied ;  it  is 
honesty,  veracity,  and  fidelity  using 
the  eye,  the  voice,  and  the  hand  to 
reveal  what  lies  in  the  worker's  pur 
pose  and  spirit.  To  become  an 
artist  in  dealing  with  tools  and 
materials  is  not  a  matter  of  choice  or 
privilege ;  it  is  a  moral  necessity ; 
for  a  man's  heart  must  be  in  his  skill, 
and  a  man's  soul  in  his  craftsmanship. 


116 


Chapter  XIII 

General  Training 

T  was  the  habit  of  an  American 
statesman  who  rose  to  the  high 
est  official  position,  to  prepare  him 
self  in  advance  upon  every  question 
which  was  likely  to  come  before 
Congress  by  thorough  and  prolonged 
study.  His  vacations  and  his  leisure 
hours  during  the  session  were  spent 
in  familiarising  himself  with  pending 
questions  in  all  their  aspects.  He 
was  not  content  with  a  mastery  of  the 
details  of  a  measure ;  he  could  not 
rest  until  he  had  mastered  the  princi 
ple  behind  it,  had  studied  it  in  the 
light  of  history,  and  in  its  relation  to 
our  political  institutions  and  charac 
ter.  His  voluminous  note-books 
117 


Work  and  Culture 

show  the  most  thorough  study,  not 
only  of  particular  measures  and  ques 
tions  as  they  came  before  the  country 
from  time  to  time,  but  of  a  wide 
range  of  related  subjects.  He  once 
said  that  for  every  speech  he  had 
delivered  he  had  prepared  five ;  and 
the  statement  throws  clear  light  on 
a  career  of  extraordinary  growth  and 
success. 

For  the  characteristic  of  this  career 
was  its  steady  expansion  along  intel 
lectual  lines.  It  was  exceptional  in 
its  disclosure  of  that  inward  energy 
which  carries  the  man  who  possesses 
it  over  all  obstacles,  enables  him  to 
master  adverse  conditions,  to  secure 
education  without  means  and  culture 
without  social  opportunity ,  but  it 
was  not  unexampled  in  a  country 
which  has  seen  many  men  of  ulti 
mate  distinction  emerge  from  entire 
118 


General  Training 

obscurity.  Its  material  success  has 
been  paralleled  many  times;  but  its 
intellectual  success  has  rarely  been 
paralleled.  It  disclosed  inward  dis 
tinction  ;  a  passion  for  the  best  in 
life  and  thought ;  an  eager  desire  to 
see  things  in  their  largest  relations. 
And  so  out  of  conditions  which  gen 
erally  breed  the  politician  the  states 
man  was  slowly  matured.  History, 
religion,  literature,  art  were  objects 
of  his  constant  and  familiar  study ; 
and  he  made  himself  rich  in  general 
knowledge  as  well  as  in  specific  infor 
mation.  This  ample  background  of 
knowledge  of  the  best  which  the 
world  has  known  and  done  in  all 
the  great  fields  of  its  activity  gave 
his  discussions  of  specific  questions 
breadth,  variety,  charm,  and  literary 
interest.  He  brought  to  the  partic 
ular  measure  largeness  of  view,  dis- 
119 


Work  and  Culture 

passionateness  of  temper,  and  the 
philosophic  mind  ;  and  his  work  came 
to  have  cultural  significance  and 
quality. 

Such  a  career,  the  record  of  which 
may  be  clearly  traced  not  only  in 
public  history  but  in  a  vast  mass 
of  preparatory  notes  and  memoranda 
of  every  description,  illustrates  in  a 
very  noble  way  the  importance  of 
that  constant  and  general  preparation 
which  ought  to  include  special  prepar 
ation  as  a  landscape  includes  the  indi 
vidual  field.  That  field  may  have 
great  value  and  ought  to  have  the 
most  careful  tillage ;  but  it  cannot  be 
separated,  in  any  just  and  true  vision, 
from  the  other  fields  which  it  touches 
and  which  run,  in  unbroken  continu 
ity,  to  the  horizon ;  and  this  prepa 
ration  not  only  involves  the  fruitful 
attitude  towards  life  upon  which  com- 


General  Training 

ment  has  been  made,  but  it  involves 
also  constant  study  in  many  direc 
tions  with  the  definite  purpose  of 
enrichment  and  enlargement.  No 
kind  of  knowledge  comes  amiss  in 
this  larger  training.  History,  liter 
ature,  art,  and  science  have  their 
different  kinds  of  nurture  to  impart, 
and  their  different  kinds  of  material 
to  supply ;  and  the  wise  man  will 
open  his  mind  to  their  teaching  and 
his  nature  to  their  ripening  touch. 
The  widely  accepted  idea  that  a  man 
not  only  needs  nothing  more  for  a 
specific  task  than  the  specific  skill 
which  it  demands,  but  that  any  larger 
skill  tends  to  superficiality,  is  the 
product  of  that  tendency  to  excessive 
specialisation  which  has  impaired  the 
harmony  of  modern  education  and 
dwarfed  many  men  of  large  native 
capacity. 

121 


Work  and  Culture 

In  some  departments  of  knowledge 
and  activity  the  demands  are  so  great 
on  time  and  strength  that  the  man 
who  works  in  them  can  hardly  ven 
ture  outside  of  them  without  impair 
ing  the  totality  of  his  achievement ; 
but  even  in  these  cases  it  is  often  a 
question  whether  too  great  a  price  has 
not  been  paid  for  a  narrow  and  highly 
specialised  skill.  There  is  not  only 
no  conflict  between  a  high  degree  of 
technical  skill  and  wide  interests  and 
knowledge  ;  there  is  a  clear  and  defi 
nite  connection  between  the  two. 
For  in  all  those  higher  forms  of  work 
which  involve  not  only  expert  work 
manship  but  a  spiritual  content  of 
some  kind,  the  worker  must  bring  to 
his  task  not  only  skill  but  ideas, 
force,  personality,  temperament ;  and, 
sound  workmanship  being  secured, 
his  rank  will  depend  not  on  specific 


General  Training 

expertness,  but  on  the  depth,  energy, 
and  splendour  of  the  personality 
which  the  work  reveals. 

Creative  men  feel  the  necessity  of 
many  interests  and  of  wide  activities. 
Their  natures  require  rich  pasturage ; 
they  must  be  fed  from  many  sources. 
They  secure  the  skill  of  the  specialist, 
but  they  never  accept  his  limitations 
of  interest  and  work.  The  clearer 
their  vision  of  the  unity  of  all  forms 
of  human  action  and  expression,  the 
deeper  their  need  of  studying  at  first 
hand  these  different  forms  of  action 
and  expression.  Goethe  did  not 
choose  that  comprehensiveness  of 
temper  which  led  him  into  so  many 
fields ;  it  was  the  necessity  of  a  mind 
vast  in  its  range  and  deep  in  its  in 
sight.  Herbert  Spencer  has  done 
work  which  discloses  at  every  point 
the  tireless  industry  and  rigorous 
123 


Work  and  Culture 

method  of  the  specialist ;  but  the 
field  in  which  he  has  concentrated 
his  energy  has  included  practically 
the  development  of  the  universe  and 
of  human  life  and  society.  Mr. 
Gladstone  was  a  master  of  all  the 
details,  skill,  and  knowledge  of  his 
profession  ;  but  how  greatly  he  gained 
in  power  by  the  breadth  of  his  inter 
ests,  and  what  charm  there  was  in 
the  disclosure  of  the  man  of  religious 
enthusiasm,  of  ardent  devotion,  and 
of  ripe  culture  behind  the  politician 
and  statesman  ! 

Byron  knew  the  secrets  of  the  art 
which  he  practiced  with  such  splen 
did  success  as  few  men  have  known 
them.  His  command  of  the  lyric 
form  was  complete.  And  yet  who 
that  loves  his  work  has  not  felt  that 
lack  in  it  which  Matthew  Arnold 
had  in  mind  when  he  said  that  with 
124 


General  Training 

all  his  genius  Byron  had  the  ideas  of 
a  country  squire  ?  The  poet  was 
a  master  of  the  technique  of  his 
art ;  he  had  rare  gifts  of  passion  and 
imagination  ;  but  he  lacked  breadth, 
variety,  and  depth  of  thought.  There 
is  a  monotony  of  theme  and  of  mo 
tive  in  his  compositions.  Tennyson, 
on  the  other  hand,  exalted  his  tech 
nical  skill  by  the  reality  and  richness 
of  his  culture.  Nothing  which  con 
tains  and  reveals  the  human  spirit 
was  alien  to  him.  He  did  not  casu 
ally  touch  a  great  range  of  themes  ;  he 
studied  them  patiently,  thoroughly, 
persistently.  Religion,  philosophy, 
science,  literature,  history  were  his 
familiar  friends ;  he  lived  with  them, 
and  they  so  completely  confided  to 
him  their  richest  truths  that  he  be 
came  their  interpreter.  So  wide  were 
his  interests  and  so  varied  his  studies 
125 


Work  and  Culture 

that  he  came  to  be  one  of  those  men 
in  whom  the  deeper  currents  of  an  age 
flow  together  and  from  whom  the  tu 
mult  of  angry  and  contending  currents 
issues  in  a  great  harmonious  tide.  No 
modern  man  has  prepared  himself 
more  intelligently  for  specific  excel 
lence  by  special  training,  and  no 
man  has  more  splendidly  illustrated 
the  necessity  of  combining  the  expert- 
ness  of  the  skilled  workman  with  the 
insight,  power,  and  culture  of  a  great 
personality.  A  life  which  issues  in 
an  art  so  beautiful  in  form  and  so 
significant  in  content  reveals  both 
the  necessity  of  constant  and  general 
preparation,  and  the  identity  of  great 
working  power  with  great  spiritual 
energy. 


126 


Chapter  XIV 

The    Ultimate    Aim 

WORKERS  of  all  kinds  are 
divided  into  two  classes  by 
differences  of  skill  and  by  differ 
ences  of  aim.  The  artist  not  only 
handles  his  materials  in  a  different 
way  from  that  which  the  artisan 
employs,  but  he  uses  them  for  a  dif 
ferent  end  and  in  a  different  spirit. 
The  peculiar  spiritual  quality  of  the 
artist  is  his  supreme  concern  with 
the  quality  of  his  work  and  his  sub 
ordinate  interest  in  the  returns  of 
reputation  or  money  which  the  work 
brings  him.  No  wise  man  ought  to 
be  indifferent  to  recognition  and  to 
material  rewards,  because  there  is  a 
vital  relation  between  honest  work 
127 


Work  and  Culture 

and  adequate  wages  of  all  kinds ;  a 
relation  as  clearly  existing  in  the 
case  of  Michael  Angelo  or  of  William 
Shakespeare  as  in  the  case  of  the  farm 
hand  or  the  day  labourer.  But  when 
the  artist  plans  his  work,  and  while 
he  is  putting  his  life  into  it  day 
by  day,  the  possible  rewards  which 
await  him  are  overshadowed  by  the 
supreme  necessity  of  making  the  work 
sound,  true,  adequate,  and  noble.  A 
man  is  at  his  best  only  when  he  pours 
out  his  vital  energy  at  full  tide,  with 
out  thought  or  care  for  anything  save 
complete  self-expression. 

He  who  hopes  to  reach  the  high 
est  level  of  activity  in  work  will  not 
aim,  therefore,  to  gain  specific  ends 
or  to  touch  external  goals  of  any 
kind ;  he  will  aim  at  complete  self- 
development.  His  ultimate  aim  will 
be  not  material  but  spiritual ;  he 
128 


The  Ultimate  Aim 

cannot  rest  short  of  the  perfect  self- 
expression.  The  rewards  of  work  — 
money,  influence,  position,  fame  — 
will  be  the  incidents,  not  the  ends,  of 
his  toil.  He  has  a  right  to  look  for 
them  and  count  upon  them  ;  but  if 
he  be  a  true  workman  they  will 
never  be  his  inspirations,  nor  can 
they  ever  be  his  highest  rewards. 
The  man  in  public  life  who  sets  out 
to  secure  a  certain  official  position  as 
the  ultimate  goal  of  his  ambition 
may  be  a  successful  politician  but 
can  never  be  a  statesman ;  for  a 
statesman  is  supremely  concerned  with 
the  interests  of  the  state,  and  only 
subordinately  with  his  own  interests. 
Such  a  man  may  definitely  seek  a 
Presidency  or  a  Premiership ;  but 
he  will  seek  it,  in  any  final  analysis 
of  his  motives,  not  for  that  which  it 
will  give  him  in  the  way  of  reward, 
9  I29 


Work  and  Culture 

but  for  that  which  it  will  give  him  in 
the  way  of  opportunity.  A  genuine 
man  seeks  a  great  place,  not  that  he 
may  be  seen  of  men,  but  that  he  may 
speak,  influence  and  lead  men. 

The  motives  of  the  vast  majority 
of  men  are,  to  a  certain  extent,  con 
fused  and  contradictory ;  for  the 
noblest  man  never  quite  completes 
his  education  and  brings  his  nature 
into  final  harmony ;  but  the  genuine 
man  is  inspired  by  generous  motives, 
and  to  such  an  one  success  becomes 
not  a  snare  but  an  education,  in  the 
process  of  which  all  that  is  noblest 
becomes  controlling  and  all  that  is 
merely  personal  becomes  subordi 
nate.  In  this  way  the  politician  often 
develops  into  the  statesman,  and  the 
merely  clever  and  successful  painter 
or  writer  grows  to  the  stature  of  the 
artist.  It  is  one  of  the  saving  quali- 
130 


The  Ultimate  Aim 

ties  of  ability  that  it  has  the  power  of 
growth,  and  great  responsibilities  often 
educate  an  able  man  out  of  selfish 
aims. 

The  ultimate  aim  which  the  worker 
sets  before  him  ought  always  to  have 
a  touch  of  idealism  because  it  must 
always  remain  a  little  beyond  his 
reach.  The  man  who  attains  his  ul 
timate  aim  has  come  to  the  end  of 
the  race ;  there  are  no  more  goals  to 
beckon  him  on ;  there  is  no  more 
inspiration  or  delight  in  life.  But 
no  man  ought  ever  to  come  to  the 
end  of  the  road ;  there  ought  always 
to  be  a  further  stretch  of  highway, 
an  inviting  turn  under  the  shadow 
of  the  trees,  a  bold  ascent,  an  untrod 
den  summit  shining  beyond. 

If  a  man  sets  a  specific  position  or 
an  external  reward  of  any  kind  before 
him  as  the  limit  of  his  journey,  he  is 


Work  and  Culture 

in  danger  of  getting  to  the  end  before 
he  has  fully  put  forth  his  strength,  and 
so  giving  his  life  the  pathos  of  an 
anti-climax.  The  more  noble  and 
able  a  man  is,  the  less  satisfaction 
can  he  find  in  any  material  return 
which  his  work  brings  him  ;  no  man 
with  a  touch  of  the  artist  in  him  can 
ever  rest  content  with  anything  short 
of  the  complete  putting  forth  of  all 
that  is  in  him,  and  the  consciousness 
of  having  done  his  work  well. 

For  a  man's  ultimate  responsibility 
is  met  by  what  he  is  and  does,  not  by 
what  he  gains.  When  he  sets  an  ex 
terior  reward  of  any  kind  before  him 
as  the  final  goal  of  his  endeavour,  he 
breaks  away  from  the  divine  order 
of  life  and  destroys  that  deep  interior 
harmony  which  ought  to  keep  a 
man's  spirit  in  time  and  tune  with 
the  creative  element  in  the  world. 
132 


The  Ultimate  Aim 

We  are  not  to  seek  specific  re 
wards  ;  they  must  come  to  us.  They 
are  the  recognition  and  fruit  of  work, 
not  its  inspiration  and  sustaining 
power.  Let  a  man  select  the  right 
seed  and  give  it  the  right  soil,  and 
sun,  rain,  and  the  warm  earth  must 
do  the  rest.  Goethe  touched  the 
heart  of  the  matter  when  he  wrote : 

"  Shoot  your  own  thread  right  through  the  earthly 

tissue 
Bravely  ;  and  leave  the  gods  to  find  the  issue." 

In  all  work  of  the  highest  quality 
God  must  be  taken  into  account. 
No  man  works  in  isolation  and  soli 
tude  ;  he  works  within  the  circle  of  a 
divine  order,  and  his  chief  concern  is 
to  work  with  that  order.  To  aim 
exclusively  at  one's  own  advance 
ment  and  ease  is  to  put  oneself  out 
side  that  order  and  to  sever  oneself 


Work  and  Culture 

from  those  sources  of  power  which 
feed  and  sustain  all  whom  they  reach. 
In  that  order  a  man  finds  his  place 
by  bringing  to  perfection  all  that  is 
in  him,  and  so  making  himself  a  new 
centre  of  life  and  power  among  men. 
Whatever  is  true  of  the  religious 
life  is  true  also  of  the  working  life  ; 
the  two  are  different  aspects  of  the 
same  vital  experience.  In  the  field 
of  work  he  who  would  keep  his  life 
must  lose  it,  and  in  losing  his  life  a 
man  secures  it  for  immortality.  The 
noble  worker  pours  himself  into  his 
work  with  sublime  indifference  to  its 
rewards,  and  by  the  very  complete 
ness  of  his  self-surrender  and  self- 
forgetful  ness  touches  degrees  of  ex 
cellence  and  attains  a  splendour  of 
vision  which  are  denied  those  whose 
ventures  are  less  daring  and  com 
plete.  And  the  largeness  of  concep- 


The  Ultimate  Aim 

tion,  the  breadth  of  treatment,  the 
beauty  of  skill  which  a  man  gains 
when  he  casts  all  his  spiritual  fortune 
into  his  work  often  secure  the  richest 
measure  of  those  returns  which  men 
value  so  highly  because  they  are  the 
tangible  evidences  of  success.  No 
man  can  forget  himself  for  the  sake 
of  fame;  but  let  him  forget  himself 
for  the  sake  of  his  work,  and  fame 
will  gladly  serve  him  while  lesser 
men  are  vainly  wooing  her.  The 
man  who  is  superior  to  fortune  is 
much  more  likely  to  be  fortunate 
than  he  who  flatters  fortune  and 
wears  her  livery.  Notwithstanding 
the  successes  that  attend  cleverness 
and  dexterity  and  the  flattery  of 
popular  taste  and  the  study  of  the 
weaknesses  of  men,  it  remains  true 
that  greatness  rules  in  every  sphere, 
and  that  in  the  exact  degree  in  which 
135 


Work  and  Culture 

a  man  is  superior  is  he  authorita 
tive  and  finally  successful.  Notoriety 
is  easily  bought,  but  fame  remains 
unpurchasable ;  external  successes, 
sought  as  final  ends,  are  but  the 
hollow  mockeries  of  true  achieve 
ment. 


136 


Chapter  XV 

Securing  Right  Conditions 

TO  secure  the  finest  growth  of 
a  plant  there  must  be  a  care 
ful  study  of  the  conditions  of  soil, 
exposure,  and  moisture,  or  sun  which 
it  needs ;  when  these  conditions  are 
supplied  and  the  necessary  oversight 
furnished,  nature  may  be  trusted  to 
do  her  work  with  ideal  completeness. 
Now,  the  perfect  unfolding  of  a  rich 
personality  involves  the  utmost  in 
telligence  in  the  discernment  of  the 

O 

conditions  which  are  essential,  and 
the  utmost  persistence  in  the  main 
tenance  of  those  conditions  after  they 
have  been  secured.  Perfectly  devel 
oped  men  and  women  are  rare,  not 
only  because  circumstances  are  so 


often  unfavourable,  but  also  because 
so  little  thought  is  given,  as  a  rule, 
to  this  aspect  of  life.  The  majority 
of  men  make  use  of  such  conditions 
and  material  as  they  find  at  hand ; 
they  do  not  make  a  thorough  study 
of  the  things  they  need,  and  then 
resolutely  set  about  the  work  of 
securing  these  essential  things. 
Many  men  use  faithfully  the  oppor 
tunities  which  come  to  hand,  but  they 
do  not,  by  taking  thought,  convert 
the  whole  of  life  into  one  great 
opportunity. 

When  a  man  discovers  that  he  has 
a  special  gift  or  talent,  his  first  duty 
is  to  turn  that  gift  into  personal 
power  by  securing  its  fullest  devel 
opment.  The  recognition  of  such 
a  gift  generally  brings  with  it  the 
knowledge  of  the  conditions  which  it 
needs  for  its  complete  unfolding ; 
138 


Securing  Right  Conditions 

and  when  that  discovery  is  made  a 
man  holds  the  clew  to  the  solution  of 
the  problem  of  his  life.  The  world 
is  full  of  unintelligent  sacrifice, — 
sacrifice  which  is  sound  in  motive,  and 
therefore  does  not  fail  to  secure  cer 
tain  results  in  character,  but  which  is 
lacking  in  clear  discernment,  and  fails, 
therefore,  to  accomplish  the  purpose 
for  which  it  was  made.  Such  un 
availing  sacrifice  is  always  pathetic, 
for  it  involves  a  waste  of  spiritual 
power.  One  of  the  chief  sources  of 
this  kind  of  waste  is  the  habit  which 
so  many  American  communities  have 
formed  of  calling  a  man  into  all 
kinds  of  activity  before  he  has  had 
time  to  thoroughly  train  and  develop 
himself.  Let  a  young  teacher, 
preacher,  speaker,  or  artist  give  prom 
ise  of  an  unusual  kind,  and  straight 
way  all  manner  of  enterprises  solicit 
139 


Work  and  Culture 

his  support,  local  organisations  and 
movements  urge  their  claims  upon 
him,  reforms  and  philanthropies  com 
mand  his  active  co-operation ;  and  if 
he  wisely  resists  the  pressure  he  is  in 
the  way  of  being  set  down  as  selfish, 
unenterprising,  and  lacking  in  public 
spirit. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  most  cases, 
it  is  the  community,  not  the  individ 
ual,  which  is  selfish ;  for  communi 
ties  are  often  ruthless  destroyers  of 
promising  youth. 

The  gifted  young  preacher  must 
clearly  discern  the  needs  of  his 
own  nature  or  he  will  miss  the 
one  thing  which  he  was  probably 
sent  into  the  world  to  accom 
plish,  the  one  thing  which  all  men 
are  sent  into  the  world  to  se 
cure, —  free  and  noble  self-develop 
ment.  He  must  be  wiser  than  his 
140 


Securing  Right  Conditions 

parish  or  the  community  ;  he  must 
recognise  the  peril  which  comes  from 
the  too  close  pressure  of  near  duties 
at  the  start.  The  community  will 
thoughtlessly  rob  him  of  the  time, 
the  quiet,  and  the  repose  necessary 
for  the  unfolding  of  his  spirit ;  it 
will  drain  him  in  a  few  years  of  the 
energy  which  ought  to  be  spread  over 
a  long  period  of  time ;  and  at  the 
end  of  a  decade  it  will  begin  to 
say,  under  its  breath,  that  its  victim 
has  not  fulfilled  the  promise  of 
his  youth.  It  will  fail  to  discern 
that  it  has  blighted  that  promise 
by  its  own  urgent  demands.  The 
young  preacher  who  is  eager  to  give 
the  community  the  very  greatest 
service  in  his  power  will  protect  it 
and  himself  by  locking  his  study 
door  and  resolutely  keeping  it 
locked. 

141 


Work  and  Culture 

The  young  artist  and  writer  must 
pass  through  the  same  ordeal,  and 
must  learn  before  it  is  too  late  that 
he  who  is  to  render  the  highest  ser 
vice  to  his  fellows  must  be  most  in 
dependent  in  his  relations  to  them. 
He  cannot  commit  the  management 
of  his  life  to  others  without  maiming 
or  blighting  it.  The  community  in 
sists  upon  immediate  activity  at  the 
expense  of  ultimate  service,  upon 
present  productivity  at  the  cost  of 
ultimate  power.  The  artist  must 
learn,  therefore,  to  bar  his  door 
against  the  public  until  he  has  so 
matured  his  own  strength  and  deter 
mined  his  own  methods  that  neither 
crowds  nor  applause  nor  demands 
can  confuse  or  disturb  him.  The 
great  spirits  who  have  nourished  the 
best  life  of  the  race  have  not 
turned  to  their  fellows  for  their  aims 
142 


Securing  Right  Conditions 

and  habits  of  work ;  they  have  taken 
counsel  of  that  ancient  oracle  which 
speaks  in  every  man's  soul,  and  to 
that  counsel  they  have  remained 
steadfastly  true.  There  is  no  clearer 
disclosure  of  divine  guidance  in  the 
confusion  of  human  aims  and  coun 
sels  than  the  presence  of  a  distinct 
faculty  or  gift  in  a  man  ;  and  when 
such  a  gift  reveals  itself  a  man  must 
follow  it,  though  it  cost  him  every 
thing  which  is  most  dear ;  and  he 
must  give  it  the  largest  opportunity 
of  growth,  though  he  face  the 
criticism  of  the  world  in  the  en 
deavour. 

Life  is  always  a  struggle,  and  no 
man  comes  to  any  kind  of  mastery 
without  a  conflict.  The  really  great 
man  is  often  compelled  to  fight  for 
his  right  to  live  in  the  freedom  of 
spirit.  Prophets,  poets,  teachers,  and 

10  143 


Work  and  Culture 

artists  have  known  the  scorn,  hatred, 
and  rejection  of  society  ;  they  have 
known  also  its  flatteries,  rewards,  and 
imperious  demands;  and  they  have 
learned  that  in  both  moods  society  is 
the  foe  of  the  highest  development 
and  of  the  noblest  talent.  He  who 
breaks  under  the  scorn  or  yields  to 
the  adulation  becomes  the  creature  of 
those  whom  he  would  serve,  and  so 
misses  his  own  highest  fortune  and 
theirs  as  well  ;  he  who  forgets  the 
indifference  in  steadfast  work,  and 
holds  to  his  aims  and  habits  when 
success  knocks  at  his  door,  gains  the 
most  and  the  best  for  himself  and  for 
others. 

For  the  highest  service  which  a 
man  can  render  to  his  kind  is  possi 
ble  only  when  he  secures  for  himself 
the  largest  and  noblest  development ; 
to  stop  short  of  that  development  is 
144 


Securing  Right  Conditions 

to  rob  himself  and  society.  Selfish 
ness  does  not  lie  in  turning  a  deaf 
ear  to  present  calls  for  work  and 
help ;  it  lies  in  indifference  to  the 
ultimate  call.  Goethe  was  by  no 
means  a  man  of  symmetrical  character, 
and  there  were  reaches  of  spiritual 
life  which  he  never  traversed ;  but 
the  charge  of  selfishness  urged  against 
him  because  he  gave  himself  up  com 
pletely  to  the  work  which  he  set  out 
to  do  cannot  be  sustained.  The 
very  noblest  service  which  he  could 
render  to  the  world  was  to  hold  him 
self  apart  from  its  multiform  activities 
in  order  that  he  might  enrich  every 
department  of  its  thought.  For  life 
consists  not  only  in  the  doing  of 
present  duties,  but  in  the  unfolding  of 
the  relations  of  men  to  the  entire 
spiritual  order  of  which  they  are  part, 
and  in  the  enrichment  of  human 

10  145 


Work  and  Culture 

experience  by  insight,  interpretation, 
and  the  play  of  the  creative  fac 
ulties.  The  artist  finds  his  use 
in  the  enrichment  of  life,  and  his 
place  in  the  order  of  service  is 
certainly  not  less  assured  and  noble 
than  that  of  the  man  of  action.  Such 
a  nature  as  Dante's  does  more  for 
men  than  a  host  of  those  who  are 
doing  near  duties  and  performing  the 
daily  work  of  the  world.  Let  no 
man  decry  the  spiritual  greatness  of 
these  obvious  claims  and  tasks  ;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  let  not  the  man 
of  practical  affairs  and  of  what  may 
be  called  the  executive  side  of  ethical 
activity  decry  the  artists,  the  thinkers, 
and  the  poets. 

It  is    the    duty    of  some   men  to 
leave  reforms  alone,  and  to  give  them 
selves  up  to  study,  meditation,  and 
the  creative  spirit  and  mood.    Of  men 
146 


Securing  Right  Conditions 

of  practical  ability  the  world  stands 
in  little  need ;  of  men  of  spiritual 
insight,  imaginative  force,  and  creative 
energy  it  stands  in  sore  need.  When 
such  a  gift  appears  it  ought  to  be 
sacredly  guarded.  It  may  be  that  it 
has  a  work  to  do  which  demands 
absolute  detachment  from  the  ordi 
nary  affairs  of  society.  To  assault  it 
with  the  claims  of  the  hour  is  to  de 
feat  its  purpose  and  rob  the  future. 
It  must  have  quiet,  leisure,  repose. 
Let  it  dream  for  a  while  in  the  silence 
of  sweet  gardens,  within  the  walls  of 
universities,  in  the  fruitful  peace  of 
undisturbed  days  ;  for  out  of  such 
dreams  have  come  "  As  You  Like  It," 
"  The  Tempest,"  "  In  Memoriam," 
and  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal." 
Out  of  such  conditions  have  come 
also  the  work  of  Darwin,  Spencer, 
Martineau,  Maurice,  Jowett,  and 

147 


Work  and  Culture 

Childs.  He  who  is  bent  on  mak 
ing  a  wise  use  of  his  abilities  may 
safely  be  left  to  choose  his  own 
methods  and  to  create  his  own  con 
ditions. 


148 


Chapter  XVI 

Concentration 

"\  XT' HEN  a  man  has  discovered 
the  conditions  which  are 
necessary  to  his  most  complete  devel 
opment,  he  will,  if  he  is  wise  and 
strong,  resolutely  preserve  these  con 
ditions  from  all  disturbing  influences 
and  claims.  He  will  not  hesitate  to 
disappoint  the  early  and  eager  expec 
tation  of  his  friends  by  devoting 
himself  to  practice  while  they  are 
clamorous  for  work ;  he  will  take 
twenty  years  for  preparation,  if  ne 
cessary,  and  cheerfully  accept  indiffer 
ence  and  the  pangs  of  being  forgotten, 
if  at  the  end  of  that  time  he  can  do 
a  higher  work  in  a  better  way.  He 
149 


Work  and  Culture 

who  takes  a  long  range  must  expect 
that  his  target  will  be  invisible  to 
those  who  happen  to  be  taking  note 
of  him ;  he  will  need,  therefore,  to 
have  a  very  clear  perception  of  the 
end  he  is  pursuing,  and  great  per 
sistence  in  the  pursuit  of  that  end. 

The  alertness  and  facility  of  the 
American  temperament  are  very  en 
gaging  and  useful  qualities,  but  they 
involve  serious  perils  for  those  who 
are  bent  upon  doing  the  best  thing  in 
the  best  way.  The  man  who  can  turn 
his  hand  readily  to  many  things  is 
likely  to  do  many  things  well,  but  to 
do  nothing  with  commanding  force 
and  skill.  One  may  have  a  fund  of 
energy  which  needs  more  than  one 
field  to  give  it  adequate  play ;  but  he 
who  hopes  to  achieve  genuine  dis 
tinction  in  any  kind  of  production 
must  give  some  particular  work  the 


Concentration 

first  place  in  his  interest  and  activity, 
and  must  pour  his  whole  soul  into  the 
doing  of  that  work.  A  man  may  en 
joy  many  diversions  by  the  way,  but 
he  must  never  forget  the  end  of  his 
journey.  If  he  is  wise,  he  will  not 
hasten  ;  he  will  not  miss  the  sights  and 
sounds  and  pleasures  which  give 
variety  to  travel  and  bring  rest  to  the 
traveller ;  but  he  will  hold  all  these 
things  subordinate  to  the  accomplish 
ment  of  his  journey.  He  will  rest  for 
the  sake  of  the  strength  it  will  give 
him  ;  he  will  turn  aside  for  the  enjoy 
ment  of  the  view ;  he  will  linger  in 
sweet  and  silent  places  to  take  coun 
sel  with  his  own  thoughts ;  but  the 
staff  and  wallet  will  never  be  laid 
aside. 

There  are  no  men  so  interesting  as 
those  who  are  quietly  and  steadfastly 
following  some  distant  aim  which  is 


Work  and  Culture 

invisible  to  others.  One  recognises 
them  because  they  seem  to  be  moving 
silently  but  surely  onward.  Skill, 
insight,  and  power  steadily  flow  to 
them  ;  and,  apparently  without  effort, 
they  climb  step  by  step  the  steep 
acclivity  where  influence  and  fame 
abide.  They  are  supremely  interest 
ing  because,  through  absorption  in 
their  work,  they  are  largely  free  from 
self-consciousness,  and  because  they 
bring  with  them  the  air  and  stir  of 
growth  and  movement.  They  rarely 
obtrude  their  interests  or  pursuits 
upon  others,  but  they  give  the 
impression  of  a  definiteness  of  aim 
which  cannot  be  obscured  or  blurred, 
and  a  concentration  of  energy  which 
steadily  reacts  in  increase  of  power. 
They  are  not  only  the  heroic  work 
ers  of  the  world,  but  they  also  set 
in  motion  the  deeper  currents  of 
152 


Concentration 

thought  and  action  ;  into  the  atmos 
phere  of  a  sluggish  age  they  infuse 
freshness  and  vitality ;  they  do  not 
drift  with  majorities,  they  determine 
their  own  courses,  and  sweep  others 
into  the  wide  circles  of  influence 
which  issue  from  them.  They  are 
the  leaders,  organisers,  energising 
spirits  of  society ;  they  do  not  copy, 
but  create ;  they  do  not  accept, 
but  form  conditions ;  they  mould  life 
to  their  purpose,  and  stamp  them 
selves  on  materials. 

To  the  making  of  genuine  careers 
concentration  is  quite  as  essential  as 
energy ;  to  achieve  the  highest  suc 
cess,  a  man  must  not  only  be  willing 
to  pour  out  his  vitality  without  stint 
or  measure,  but  he  must  also  be  will 
ing  to  give  himself.  For  concentra 
tion  is,  at  bottom,  entire  surrender  of 
one's  life  to  some  definite  end.  In 
153 


Work  and  Culture 

order  to  focus  all  one's  powers  at  a 
single  point,  there  must  be  aban 
donment  of  a  wide  field  of  interest 
and  pleasure.  One  would  like  to  do 
many  things  and  take  into  himself 
many  kinds  of  knowledge,  many 
forms  of  influence ;  but  if  one  is  to 
master  an  art,  a  craft,  or  a  profession, 
one  must  be  willing  to  leave  many 
paths  untrod,  to  build  many  walls, 
and  to  lock  many  doors.  When  the 
boy  has  learned  his  lessons  he  may 
roam  the  fields  and  float  on  the  river 
at  his  own  sweet  will ;  but  so  long  as 
he  is  at  the  desk  he  must  be  deaf  to 
the  invitation  of  sky  and  woods. 
When  a  man  has  mastered  his  work 
he  may  safely  roam  the  world ;  but 
while  he  is  an  apprentice  let  him  be 
deaf  and  blind  to  all  things  that 
interrupt  or  divert  or  dissipate  the 
energies. 


Concentration 
Mr.  Gladstone's  astonishing  range 

O  D 

of  interests  and  occupations  was 
made  possible  by  his  power  of  con 
centration.  He  gave  himself  com 
pletely  to  the  work  in  hand ;  all  his 
knowledge,  energy,  and  ability  were 
focussed  on  that  work,  so  that  his 
whole  personality  was  brought  to  a 
point  of  intense  light  and  heat,  as  the 
rays  of  the  sun  are  brought  to  a  point 
in  a  burning-glass.  When  the  power 
of  concentration  reaches  this  stage  of 
development,  it  liberates  a  man  from 
dependence  upon  times,  places,  and 
conditions ;  it  makes  privacy  possible 
in  crowds,  and  silence  accessible  in 
tumults  of  sound ;  it  withdraws  a 
man  so  completely  from  his  surround 
ings  that  he  secures  complete  isolation 
as  readily  as  if  the  magic  carpet  of  the 
"Arabian  Nights"  were  under  him 
to  bear  him  on  the  instant  into  the 
155 


Work  and  Culture 

solitude  of  lonely  deserts  or  inaccess 
ible  mountains.  More  than  this,  it 
enables  a  man  to  work  with  the 
utmost  rapidity,  to  complete  his  task 
in  the  shortest  space  of  time,  and  to 
secure  for  himself,  therefore,  the 
widest  margin  of  time  for  his  own 
pleasure  and  recreation. 

The  marked  differences  of  working 
power  among  men  are  due  chiefly  to 
differences  in  the  power  of  concentra 
tion.  A  retentive  and  accurate  memory 
is  conditioned  upon  close  attention. 
If  one  gives  entire  attention  to  what 
is  passing  before  him,  he  is  not  likely 
to  forget  it  or  to  confuse  persons  or 
incidents.  The  book  which  one 
reads  with  eyes  which  are  continually 
lifted  from  the  page  may  furnish 
entertainment  for  the  moment,  but 
cannot  enrich  the  reader,  because  it 
cannot  become  part  of  his  knowledge. 
156 


Concentration 

Attention  is  the  simplest  form  of 
concentration,  and  its  value  illustrates 
the  supreme  importance  of  that 
focussing  of  all  the  powers  upon  the 
thing  in  hand  which  may  be  called 
the  sustained  attention  of  the  whole 
nature. 

Here,  as  everywhere  in  the  field  of 
man's  life,  there  enters  that  element 
of  sacrifice  without  which  no  real 
achievement  is  possible.  To  secure 
a  great  end,  one  must  be  willing  to 
pay  a  great  price.  The  exact  adjust 
ment  of  achievement  to  sacrifice 
makes  us  aware,  at  every  step,  of  the 
invisible  spiritual  order  with  which 
all  men  are  in  contact  in  every  kind 
of  endeavour.  If  the  highest  skill 
could  be  secured  without  long  and 
painful  effort  it  would  be  wasted 
through  ignorance  of  its  value,  or 
misused  through  lack  of  education ; 


Work  and  Culture 

but  a  man  rarely  attains  great  skill 
without  undergoing  a  discipline  of 
self-denial  and  work  which  gives 
him  steadiness,  restraint,  and  a  certain 
kind  of  character.  The  giving  up  of 
pleasures  which  are  wholesome,  the 
turning  aside  from  fields  which  are 
inviting,  the  steady  refusal  of  invita 
tions  and  claims  which  one  would  be 
glad  to  accept  or  recognise,  invest 
the  power  of  concentration  with 
moral  quality,  and  throw  a  searching 
light  on  the  nature  of  all  genuine 
success.  To  do  one  thing  well,  a  man 
must  be  willing  to  hold  all  other  in 
terests  and  activities  subordinate ;  to 
attain  the  largest  freedom,  a  man 
must  first  bear  the  cross  of  self- 
denial. 


'58 


Chapter  XVII 

Relaxation 

THE  ability  to  relax  the  tension 
of  work  is  as  important  as  the 
power  of  concentration;  for  the  two 
processes  combine  in  the  doing  of 
the  highest  kind  of  work.  There 
are,  it  is  true,  great  differences  be 
tween  men  in  capacity  for  sustained 
toil.  Some  men  are  able  to  put 
forth  their  energy  at  the  highest 
point  of  efficiency  for  a  short  time 
only,  while  the  endurance  of  others 
seems  to  be  almost  without  limit. 
In  manual  or  mechanical  work  it 
is  mainly  a  question  of  physical  or 
nervous  resources ;  in  creative  work, 
however,  relaxation  is  not  a  matter  of 


Work  and  Culture 

choice ;  it  is  a  matter  of  necessity, 
because  it  affects  the  quality  of  the 
product.  In  the  alertness  of  atten 
tion,  the  full  activity  of  every  faculty, 
the  glow  of  the  imagination,  which 
accompany  the  putting  forth  of  the 
creative  power,  the  whole  force  of 
the  worker  is  concentrated  and  his 
whole  nature  is  under  the  highest 
tension.  Everything  he  holds  of 
knowledge,  skill,  experience,  emotion 
flows  to  one  point ;  as  waters  which 
have  gathered  from  the  surface  of  a 
great  stretch  of  country  sometimes 
run  together  and  sweep,  in  deep, 
swift  current,  through  a  narrow  pass. 
In  such  moments  there  is  a  concen 
tration  of  thought,  imagination,  and 
spiritual  energy  which  fuses  all  the 
forces  of  the  worker  into  one  force 
and  directs  that  force  to  a  single 
point. 

1 60 


Relaxation 

In  such  a  moment  there  is  obvi 
ously  a  closing  in  of  a  man's  nature 
from  outward  influences.  The  very 
momentum  with  which  the  absorbed 
worker  is  urged  on  in  the  accom 
plishment  of  his  design  shuts  him 
from  those  approaches  of  truth  and 
knowledge  which  are  made  only 
when  the  mind  is  at  ease.  One  sees 
a  hundred  things  in  the  woods  as  he 
saunters  through  their  depths  which 
are  invisible  as  he  rushes  through  on 
a  flying  train;  and  one  is  conscious 
of  a  vast  world  of  sights,  sounds,  and 
odours  when  he  sits  out  of  doors  at 
ease,  of  which  he  is  oblivious  when 
he  is  absorbed  in  any  kind  of  task. 
Now,  in  order  to  give  work  the 
individuality  and  freshness  of  the 
creative  spirit,  one  must  be,  at  certain 
times,  as  open  to  these  manifold  in 
fluences  from  without  as  one  must 
ii  161 


Work  and  Culture 

be,  at  other  times,  closed  against 
them  ;  the  tension  of  the  whole  being 
which  is  necessary  for  the  highest 
achievement  must  be  intermitted. 
The  flow  of  energy  must  be  stopped 
at  intervals  in  order  that  the  reser 
voir  may  have  time  to  fill.  In  the 
lower  forms  of  work  relaxation  is 
necessary  for  health ;  in  the  higher 
forms  of  work  it  is  essential  for 
creativeness. 

It  is  a  very  superficial  view  of  the 
nature  of  man  which  limits  growth 
to  periods  of  self-conscious  activity ; 
a  view  so  superficial  that  it  not  only 
betrays  ignorance  of  the  real  nature 
of  man's  relation  to  his  world,  but 
also  of  the  real  nature  of  work. 
Activity  is  not  necessarily  work  ;  it 
is  often  motion  without  direction, 
progress,  or  productiveness ;  mere 
waste  of  energy.  In  every  field  of 
162 


Relaxation 

life  —  religious,  intellectual,  material 
—  there  is  an  immense  amount  of 
activity  which  is  sheer  waste  of 
power.  Work  is  energy  intelligently 
put  forth ;  and  intelligence  in  work 
depends  largely  upon  keeping  the 
whole  nature  in  close  and  constant 
relation  with  all  the  sources  of  power. 
To  be  always  doing  something  is  to 
be  as  useless  for  the  higher  purposes 
of  growth  and  influence  as  to  be 
always  idle ;  one  can  do  nothing 
with  a  great  show  of  energy,  and  one 
can  do  much  with  very  little  appar 
ent  effort.  In  no  field  of  work  is 
the  difference  between  barren  and 
fruitful  activity  more  evident  than  in 
teaching.  Every  one  who  has  ac 
quaintance  with  teachers  knows  the 
two  types  :  the  man  who  is  never  at 
rest,  but  who  pushes  through  the 
school  day,  watch  in  hand,  with 


Work  and  Culture 

gongs  sounding,  monitors  marking, 
classes  marching,  recitations  begin 
ning  and  ending  with  military  pre 
cision,  sharply  defined  sections  in 
each  text-book  arbitrarily  covered  in 
each  period  ;  a  mechanic  of  tireless 
activity,  who  never  by  any  chance 
touches  the  heart  of  the  subject, 
opens  the  mind  of  the  pupil,  enriches 
his  imagination,  or  liberates  his  per 
sonality  :  and  the  other  type,  the 
real  teacher,  who  is  concerned  not  to 
sustain  a  mechanical  industry,  but  to 
create  a  dynamic  energy  ;  who  cares 
more  for  truth  than  for  facts,  for 
ability  than  for  dexterity,  for  skill  of 
the  soul  than  for  cunning  of  the 
brain  ;  who  aims  to  put  his  pupil  in 
heart  with  nature  as  well  as  in  touch 
with  her  phenomena  ;  to  disclose  the 
formative  spirit  in  history  as  well  as 
to  convey  accurate  information ;  to 
164 


Relaxation 

uncover  the  depths  of  human  life  in 
literature  as  well  as  to  set  periods 
of  literary  development  in  external 
order.  Such  a  man  may  use  few 
methods,  and  attach  small  importance 
to  them ;  the  railroad  atmosphere 
of  the  schedule  may  be  hateful  to 
him  in  the  school-room  ;  but  he  is 
the  real  worker,  for  he  achieves 
that  which  his  noisier  and  more 
bustling  colleague  misses,  —  the  ed 
ucation  of  his  pupils.  He  is  not 
content  to  impart  knowledge ;  he 
must  also  impart  culture ;  for 
without  culture  knowledge  is  the 
barren  possession  of  the  intellectual 
artisan. 

Now,  culture  involves  repose,1 
openness  of  mind,  that  spiritual1 
hospitality  which  is  possible  only 
when  the  nature  is  relaxed  and  lies 
fallow  like  the  fields  which  are  set 
165 


Work  and  Culture 

aside  in  order  that  they  may  regain 
fertility.  The  higher  the  worker  the 
deeper  the  need  of  relaxation  in 
the  large  sense.  A  man  must  be 
nourished  before  he  can  feed  others  ; 
must  be  enriched  in  his  own  nature 
before  he  can  make  others  rich ; 
must  be  inspired  before  he  reveal, 
prophesy,  or  create  in  any  field.  If 
he  makes  himself  wholly  a  working 
power,  he  isolates  himself  from  the 
refreshment  and  re-creative  power  of 
the  living  universe  in  which  he  toils; 
in  that  isolation  he  may  do  many 
things  with  feverish  haste,  but  he 
can  do  nothing  with  commanding 
ability.  He  narrows  his  energy  to  a 
rivulet  by  cutting  himself  off  from 
the  hills  on  which  the  feeding  springs 
rise  and  the  clouds  pour  down  their 
richness.  The  rivulet  may  be  swift, 
but  it  can  never  have  depth,  volume, 
166 


Relaxation 

or  force.  The  great  streams  in 
which  the  stars  shine  and  on  which 
the  sails  of  commerce  whiten  and 
fade  are  fed  by  half  a  conti 
nent. 

To  the  man  who  is  bent  upon  the 
highest  personal  efficiency  through 
the  most  complete  self-development  a 
large  part  of  life  must  be  set  aside 
for  that  relaxation  which,  by  relief 
from  tension  and  from  concentration, 
puts  the  worker  into  relation  with 
the  influences  and  forces  that  nourish 
and  inspire  the  spirit.  The  more 
one  can  gain  in  his  passive  moods, 
the  more  will  he  have  to  give  in  his 
active  moods ;  for  the  greater  the 
range  of  one's  thought,  the  truer 
one's  insight,  and  the  deeper  one's 
force  of  imagination,  the  more  will 
one's  skill  express  and  convey.  A 
man's  life  ought  to  be  immensely  in 
167 


Work  and  Culture 

excess  of  his  expression,  and  a  man's 
life  has  its  springs  far  below  the  plane 
of  his  work.  Emerson's  work  re 
veals  the  man,  because  it  contains  the 
man,  but  the  man  was  fashioned 
before  the  work  began.  The  work 
played  no  small  part  in  the  unfolding 
of  the  man's  nature,  but  that  which 
gave  the  work  individuality  and 
authority  antedated  both  poems  and 
essays.  These  primal  qualities  had 
their  source  in  the  personality  of  the 
thinker  and  poet,  and  were  developed 
and  refined  by  long  intimacy  with 
nature,  by  that  fruitful  quietness 
and  solitude  which  open  the  soul  to 
the  approach  of  the  deepest  truths 
and  most  liberating  experiences. 
Emerson  knew  how  to  relax,  to  sur 
render  to  the  hour  and  the  place,  to 
invite  the  higher  powers  by  throwing 
all  the  doors  open  ;  and  these  recep- 
168 


Relaxation 

tive  hours,  when  he  gave  himself 
into  the  keeping  of  the  spirit,  were 
the  most  fertile  periods  of  his  life ; 
they  enriched  and  inspired  him  for 
the  hours  of  work. 


169 


Chapter  XVIII 

Recreation 

THERE  is  a  radical  difference 
between  relaxation  and  recre 
ation.  To  relax  is  to  unbend  the 
bow,  to  diminish  the  tension,  to  lie 
fallow,  to  open  the  nature  on  all 
sides.  Relaxation  involves  passivity; 
it  is  a  negative  condition  so  far  as 
activity  is  concerned,  although  it  is 
often  a  positive  condition  so  far  as 
growth  is  concerned.  Recreation,  on 
the  other  hand,  involves  activity,  but 
activity  along  other  lines  than  those 
of  work.  Froebel  first  clearly  devel 
oped  the  educational  significance  and 
uses  of  play.  Earlier  thinkers  and 
writers  on  education  had  seen  that 
170 


Recreation 

play  is  an  important  element  in  the 
unfolding  of  a  child's  nature,  but 
Froebel  discerned  the  psychology  of 
play  and  showed  how  it  may  be  utilised 
for  educational  purposes.  His  com 
ments  on  this  subject  are  full  of 
significance  :  "  The  plays  of  the  child 
contain  the  germ  of  the  whole  life 
that  is  to  follow ;  for  the  man  devel 
ops  and  manifests  himself  in  play, 
and  reveals  the  noblest  aptitudes  and 
the  deepest  elements  of  his  being. 
.  .  .  The  plays  of  childhood  are  the 
germinal  leaves  of  all  later  life ;  for 
the  whole  man  is  developed  and 
shown  in  these,  in  his  tenderest  dis 
positions,  in  his  innermost  tenden 
cies."  And  one  of  Froebel's  most 
intimate  associates  suggests  another 
service  of  play,  when  he  says :  "  It  is 
like  a  fresh  bath  for  the  human  soul 
when  we  dare  to  be  children  again 
171 


Work  and  Culture 

with  children."  Play  is  the  prelude 
to  work,  and  stands  in  closest  relation 
to  it ;  it  is  the  natural  expression  of 
the  child's  energy,  as  work  is  the  nat 
ural  expression  of  the  man's  energy. 
In  play  and  through  play  the  child 
develops  the  power  that  is  in  him, 
comes  to  knowledge  of  himself,  and 
realises  his  relation  with  other  chil 
dren  and  with  the  world  about  him. 
In  the  free  and  unconscious  pouring 
out  of  his  vitality  he  secures  for 
himself  training,  education,  and 
growth. 

The  two  instincts  which  impel  the 
child  to  play  are  the  craving  for  activ 
ity  and  the  craving  for  joy.  In  a 
healthy  child  the  vital  energy  rushes 
out  with  a  fountain-like  impetuosity 
and  force ;  he  does  not  take  thought 
about  what  he  shall  do,  for  it  is  of 
very  little  consequence  what  he  does 
172 


Recreation 

so  long  as  he  is  in  motion.  A  boy, 
with  the  high  spirits  of  perfect  health, 
is,  at  times,  an  irresponsible  force. 
He  acts  instinctively,  not  intelli 
gently  ;  and  he  acts  under  the  pres 
sure  of  a  tremendous  vitality,  not  as 
the  result  of  design  or  conviction. 
The  education  of  play  is  the  more  deep 
and  fundamental  because  it  is  received 
in  entire  unconsciousness ;  like  the 
landscape  which  sank  into  the  soul 
of  the  boy  blowing  mimic  hootings 
to  the  owls  on  the  shore  of  Winander. 
The  boy  who  has  the  supreme  good 
fortune  of  physical,  mental,  and  moral 
health  often  passes  the  invisible  line 
between  play  and  work  without  con 
sciousness  of  the  critical  transition. 
In  the  life  of  a  man  so  harmonious 
in  nature  and  so  fortunate  in  condi 
tion,  work  is  a  normal  evolution  of 
play ;  and  the  qualities  which  make 


Work  and  Culture 

play  educational  and  vital  give  work 
its  tone  and  temper.  Activity  and 
joy  are  not  dissevered  in  such  a  nor 
mal  unfolding  of  a  man's  life. 

Now,  play  is  as  much  a  need  of 
the  man's  nature  as  of  the  boy's,  and 
if  work  is  to  keep  its  freshness  of 
interest,  its  spontaneity,  and  its  pro 
ductiveness,  it  must  retain  the  charac 
teristics  of  play  ;  it  must  have  variety, 
unconsciousness  of  self,  joy.  Activ 
ity  it  cannot  lose,  but  joy  too  often 
goes  out  of  it.  The  fatal  tendency 
to  deadness,  born  of  routine  and 
repetition,  overtakes  the  worker  long 
before  his  force  is  spent,  and  blights 
his  work  by  sapping  its  vitality. 
Real  work  always  sinks  its  roots 
deep  in  a  man's  nature,  and  derives 
its  life  from  the  life  of  the  man ; 
when  the  vitality  of  the  worker  be 
gins  to  subside,  through  fatigue,  ex- 


Recreation 

haustion  of  impulse,  or  loss  of  interest, 
the  work  ceases  to  be  original,  vital, 
and  genuine.  Whatever  impairs  the 
worker's  vitality  impairs  his  work. 
So  close  is  the  relation  between  the 
life  of  the  artist  and  the  life  of  his 
art  that  the  stages  of  his  decline  are 
clearly  marked  in  the  record  of  his 
work.  It  is  of  the  highest  impor 
tance,  therefore,  that  a  man  keep 
himself  in  the  most  highly  vitalised 
condition  for  the  sake  of  productive 
ness. 

No  one  can  keep  in  this  condition 
without  the  rest  which  comes  from 
self-forgetfulness  and  the  refreshment 
which  comes  from  joy  ;  one  can  never 
lose  the  capacity  for  play  without  some 
sacrifice  of  the  capacity  for  work. 
The  man  who  never  plays  may  not 
show  any  loss  of  energy,  but  he  in 
evitably  shows  loss  of  power  ;  he  may 
175 


Work  and  Culture 

continue  to  do  a  certain  work  with  a 
certain  efficiency,  but  he  cannot  give 
it  breadth,  freshness,  spiritual  signifi 
cance.  To  give  one's  work  these 
qualities  one  must  withdraw  from  it 
at  frequent  intervals,  and  suffer  the 
energies  to  play  in  other  directions ; 
one  must  not  only  diminish  the  ten 
sion  and  lessen  the  concentration  of 
attention  ;  one  must  go  further  and 
seek  other  objects  of  interest  and 
other  kinds  of  activity  ;  and  these  ob 
jects  and  activities  must  be  sought  and 
pursued  freely,  joyfully,  and  in  forget- 
fulness  of  self.  The  old  delight  of 
the  playground  must  be  called  back 
by  the  man,  and  must  be  at  the  com 
mand  of  the  man.  The  boy's  play, 
in  a  real  sense,  creates  the  man  ;  the 
man's  play  re-creates  him  by  re-vital 
ising  him,  refreshing  him  and  restor 
ing  to  him  that  delight  in  activity  for 
176 


Recreation 

its  own  sake  which  is  the  evidence 
of  fresh  impulse. 

This  is  the  true  meaning  of  recrea 
tion  ;  it  involves  that  spiritual  recu 
peration  and  reinforcement  which 
restore  a  man  his  original  enerev  of 

<->  OJ 

impulse  and  action.  Recreation  is, 
therefore,  not  a  luxury,  but  a  neces 
sity  ;  not  an  indulgence,  but  a  duty. 
When  a  man  is  out  of  health  physi 
cally  and  neglects  to  take  the  precau 
tions  or  remedies  which  his  condition 
demands,  he  becomes,  if  he  has  intelli 
gence,  a  suicide ;  for  he  deliberately 
throws  his  life  away.  In  like  man 
ner,  the  man  who  destroys  his  fresh 
ness  and  force  by  making  himself  a 
slave  to  work  and  so  transforming 
what  ought  to  be  a  joy  into  a  task, 
commits  a  grave  offence  against  him 
self  and  society.  The  highest  pro 
ductivity  will  never  be  secured  until 
i?  i77 


Work  and  Culture 

the  duty  of  recreation  is  set  on  the 
same  plane  with  that  of  work,  and 
the  obligation  to  nourish  one's  life 
made  as  binding  as  the  obligation  to 
spend  one's  life. 

How  a  man  shall  secure  recreation 
and  in  what  form  he  shall  take  it 
depends  largely  upon  individual 
conditions.  Mr.  Gladstone  found 
recreation  not  only  in  tree-cutting 
but  in  Homeric  studies  ;  Lord  Salis 
bury  finds  it  in  chemistry ;  Washing 
ton  found  it  in  hunting  ;  Wordsworth 
in  walking ;  Carlyle  in  talking  and 
smoking ;  Mr.  Balfour  finds  it  in 
golf,  and  Mr.  Cleveland  in  fishing. 
Any  pursuit  or  occupation  which 
takes  a  man  out  of  the  atmosphere 
of  his  work-room  and  away  from 
his  work,  gives  him  different  in 
terests,  calls  into  activity  different 
muscles  or  faculties,  brings  back  the 
178 


Recreation 

spirit  of  play,  recalls  the  spontaneous 
and  joyous  mood,  and  re-creates 
through  diversion,  variety,  and  the 
appeal  to  another  side  of  the  nature. 
To  work  long  and  with  cumulative 
power,  one  must  play  often  and  hon 
estly  ;  that  is  to  say,  one  must  play 
for  the  pure  joy  of  it. 


179 


Chapter  XIX 

Ease  of  Mood 

EASE,  it  has  been  said,  is  the 
result  of  forgotten  toil ;  and 
ease  is  essential  to  the  man  who 
works  continuously  and  on  a  large 
scale.  It  is  fortunate,  rather  than  the 
reverse,  when  one's  work  is  not  easily 
done  at  the  start ;  for  early  facility  is 
often  fatal  to  real  proficiency.  The 
man  who  does  his  work  without 
effort  at  the  beginning  is  tempted  to 
evade  the  training  and  discipline 
which  bring  ease  to  the  mind  and 
the  hand  because  both  have  learned 
the  secret  of  the  particular  work  and 
mastered  the  art  of  doing  it  with  force 
and  freedom.  Facility  is  mere  agility  ; 
180 


Ease  of  Mood 

ease  comes  from  the  perfect  adjust 
ment  of  the  man  to  his  tools,  his 
materials,  and  his  task.  The  facile 
man,  as  a  rule,  does  his  work  with  as 
little  effort  at  twenty  as  at  fifty ;  the 
man  of  trained  skill  does  his  work 
with  increasing  comfort  and  power. 
The  first  starts  more  readily ;  the 
second  has  the  greater  faculty  of 
growth,  and  is  more  likely  to  become 
an  artist  in  the  end. 

It  is  significant  that  the  most  orig 
inal  and  capacious  minds,  like  the 
most  powerful  bodies,  often  betray 
noticeable  awkwardness  at  the  start ; 
they  need  prolonged  exercise  in  order 
to  secure  freedom  of  movement ;  they 
must  have  time  for  growth.  Minds 
of  a  certain  superficial  brilliancy,  on 
the  other  hand,  often  mature  early 
because  they  have  so  little  depth  and 
range.  To  be  awkward  in  taking 
181 


Work  and  Culture 

hold  of  one's  work  is  not,  therefore, 
a  thing  to  be  regretted ;  as  a  rule,  it 
is  a  piece  of  good  fortune. 

But  awkwardness  must  finally  give 
place  to  ease  if  one  is  to  do  many 
things  or  great  things,  and  do  them 
well.  Balzac  wrote  many  stories  be 
fore  he  secured  harmony  and  force 
of  style  ;  but  if,  as  the  result  of  his 
long  apprenticeship,  he  had  failed  to 
secure  these  qualities,  the  creation  of 
the  "Comedie  Humaine"  would  have 
been  beyond  his  power.  The  work 
was  so  vast  that  no  man  could  have 
accomplished  it  who  had  not  learned 
to  work  rapidly  and  easily.  For  ease, 
when  it  is  the  result  of  toil,  evidences 
the  harmonious  action  of  the  whole 
nature ;  it  indicates  that  mastery 
which  comes  to  those  only  who  see 
all  the  possibilities  of  the  material  in 
hand  and  readily  put  all  their  power 
182 


Ease  of  Mood 

into  the  shaping  of  it.  A  great  work 
of  art  conveys  an  impression,  not  of 
effort,  but  of  force  and  resource. 
One  is  convinced  that  Shakespeare 
could  have  written  plays  and  Rem 
brandt  painted  portraits  through  an 
indefinite  period  of  time  without  strain 
or  exhaustion. 

Strain  and  exhaustion  are  fatal  to 
fine  quality  of  work,  —  exhaustion,  be 
cause  it  deprives  work  of  vitality ; 
and  strain,  because  it  robs  work  of 
repose,  harmony,  and  charm.  It  is 
interesting  to  note  how  deeply  an 
audience  enjoys  ease  in  a  speaker; 
when  he  seems  to  be  entirely  at  home 
and  to  have  complete  command  of 
his  resources,  his  hearers  throw  off  all 
apprehension,  all  fear  that  their  sym 
pathies  may  be  drawn  upon,  and  give 
themselves  up  to  the  charm  of  beau 
tiful  or  compelling  speech.  Let  a 
183 


Work  and  Culture 

speaker  show  embarrassment  or  anx 
iety,  on  the  other  hand,  and  his 
hearers  instantly  share  his  anxiety. 
There  are  speakers,  moreover,  who 
give  no  occasion  for  any  concern 
about  their  ability  to  deal  with  a  sub 
ject  or  an  occasion,  but  whose  exertion 
is  so  evident  that  the  audience,  which 
is  always  sensitive  to  the  psychologic 
condition  of  a  speaker,  is  wearied  and 
sometimes  exhausted.  It  is  one  of 
the  characteristics  of  art  that  it  con 
ceals  all  trace  of  toil ;  and  a  man's 
work  never  takes  on  the  highest 
qualities  until  all  evidences  of  labour 
and  exertion  are  effaced  from  it. 

Not  many  months  ago  the  mem 
bers  of  a  court  of  very  high  standing 
expressed  great  pleasure  in  the  pros 
pect  of  hearing  a  certain  lawyer  of 
eminence  on  the  following  morning. 
These  judges  were  elderly  men,  who 
184 


Ease  of  Mood 

had  listened  patiently  through  long 
years  to  arguments  of  all  kinds,  pre 
sented  with  all  degrees  of  skill.  They 
had  doubtless  traversed  the  whole 
field  of  jurisprudence  many  times,  and 
could  hardly  anticipate  any  surprises 
of  thought  or  novelties  of  argument. 
And  yet  these  patient  and  long-suf 
fering  jurists  were  looking  forward 
with  delight  to  the  opportunity  of 
hearing  another  argument  on  an 
abstruse  question  of  legal  construc 
tion  !  The  explanation  of  their  inter 
est  was  not  far  to  seek.  The  jurist 
whose  appearance  before  them  was 
anticipated  with  so  much  pleasure  is 
notable  in  his  profession  for  ease  of 
manner,  which  is  in  itself  a  very  great 
charm.  This  ease  invests  his  discus 
sions  of  abstract  or  obscure  questions 
with  a  grace  and  finish  which  are 
within  the  command  of  the  artist 
185 


Work  and  Culture 

only  ;  and  the  artist  is  always  fresh, 
delightful,  and  captivating. 

Mr.  Gladstone's  friends  recall  as 
one  of  his  captivating  qualities  the 
ease  with  which  he  seemed  to  do  his 
work.  He  was  never  in  haste ;  he 
always  conveyed  the  impression  of 
having  ample  time  for  his  varied  and 
important  tasks.  If  he  had  felt  the 
spur  of  haste  he  would  have  lost  his 
power  of  winning  through  that  de 
lightful  old-fashioned  courtesy  which 
none  could  resist ;  if  in  his  talks,  his 
books,  or  his  speeches  there  had  been 
evidences  of  strain,  he  would  not  have 
kept  to  the  end  an  influence  which 
was  due  in  no  small  measure  to  the 
impression  of  reserve  power  which  he 
always  conveyed. 

Ease  of  mood  is  essential  to  long- 
sustained  working-power.  The  anx 
ious  man  loses  force,  and  the  laborious 
186 


Ease  of  Mood 

man  time,  which  cannot  be  spared 
from  the  greater  tasks.  Wellington 
used  to  say  that  a  successful  com 
mander  must  do  nothing  which  he 
could  get  other  men  to  do ;  he  must 
delegate  all  lesser  tasks  and  relieve 
himself  of  all  care  of  details,  in  order 
that  he  might  concentrate  his  full 
force  on  the  matter  in  hand.  It  is 
said  that  the  most  daring  and  com 
pelling  men  are  invariably  cool  and 
quiet  in  manner.  Such  men  lose 
nothing  by  friction  or  waste  of  energy  ; 
they  work  with  the  ease  which  is  born 
of  toil. 


187 


Chapter  XX 

Sharing  the  Race-Fortune 

THE  development  of  one's  per 
sonality  cannot  be  accom 
plished  in  isolation  or  solitude  ;  the 
process  involves  close  and  enduring 
association  with  one's  fellows.  If 
work  were  purely  a  matter  of  mechan 
ical  skill,  each  worker  might  have 
his  cell  and  perform  his  task,  as  in 
a  prison.  But  work  involves  the 
entire  personality,  and  the  person 
ality  finds  its  complete  unfolding,  not 
in  detachment,  but  in  association. 
Talent,  says  Goethe,  thrives  in  soli 
tude,  but  character  grows  in  the 
stream  of  the  world.  It  is  a  twofold 
discovery  which  a  man  must  make 
188 


Sharing  the  Race-Fortune 

before  the  highest  kind  of  success 
lies  within  his  grasp :  the  discovery 
of  his  own  individual  gift,  force,  or 
aptitude,  and  the  discovery  of  his 
place  in  society.  If  it  were  possible 
to  secure  complete  development  of 
one's  power  in  isolation,  the  product 
would  be,  not  the  full  energy  of  a 
man  expressing  itself  through  a  con 
genial  activity,  but  a  detached  skill 
exercised  automatically  and  apart 
from  a  personality. 

In  order  to  stand  erect  on  his  feet, 
in  true  and  fruitful  relations  with  the 
world  about  him,  a  man  must  join 
hands  with  his  fellows.  For  a  very 
large  part  of  his  education  must  come 
from  his  contact  with  the  race.  Since 
men  began  to  live  and  to  learn  the 
lessons  of  life,  each  generation  has 
added  something  to  that  vital  knowl 
edge  of  the  art  of  living  which  is  the 
189 


Work  and  Culture 

very  soul  of  culture,  and  something 
to  the  constructive  and  positive  prod 
uct  of  this  vital  knowledge  wrought 
out  into  institutions,  organisations, 
science,  art,  and  religion.  This 
inheritance  of  culture  and  achieve 
ment  is  the  richest  possession  into 
which  the  individual  member  of  the 
race  is  born,  and  he  cannot  take 
possession  of  his  share  of  the  race- 
fortune  unless  he  becomes  one  of  the 
race  family.  This  race-fortune  is 
the  product  of  the  colossal  work  of 
the  race  through  its  entire  history;  it 
represents  the  slow  and  painful  toil 
and  saving  of  countless  multitudes  of 
men  and  women.  It  is  a  wealth  be 
side  which  all  purely  monetary  forms 
of  riches  are  fleeting  and  secondary  ; 
it  is  the  enduring  spiritual  endowment 
of  the  race  secured  by  the  incalcula 
ble  toil  of  all  past  generations. 
190 


Sharing  the  Race-Fortune 

Now,  no  man  can  secure  his  share 
in  this  race-fortune  until  he  joins  the 
ranks  of  the  workers  and  takes  his 
place  in  the  field,  the  shop,  the 
factory,  the  study,  or  the  atelier. 
The  idle  man  is  always  a  detached 
man,  and  is,  therefore,  excluded  from 
the  privileges  of  heirship.  To  get 
the  beauty  of  any  kind  of  art  one 
must  train  himself  to  see,  to  under 
stand,  and  to  enjoy  ;  for  art  is  a  sealed 
book  to  the  ignorant.  To  secure 
the  largeness  of  view  which  comes 
from  a  knowledge  of  many  cities  and 
races,  one  must  travel  with  a  mind 
already  prepared  by  prolonged  study. 
The  approach  to  every  science  is 
guarded  by  doors  which  open  only  to 
the  hand  which  has  been  made 
strong  by  patient  and  persistent  exer 
cise.  Every  department  of  knowl 
edge  is  barred  and  locked  against 
191 


Work  and  Culture 

the  ignorant ;  nothing  which  repre 
sents  achievement,  thought,  knowl 
edge,  skill,  beauty,  is  within  reach  of 
the  idle.  Society  has  secured  nothing 
which  endures  save  as  the  result  of 
persistent  and  self-denying  work ; 
and  nothing  which  it  has  created  can 
be  understood,  nothing  which  it  has 
accumulated  can  be  appropriated, 
without  kindred  self-denial  and  toil. 
It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  the  mate 
rial  for  the  education  of  the  indi 
vidual  cannot  be  secured  save  by 
intimate  fellowship  with  the  race. 

This  fellowship  must  rest  also  in 
present  relations  ;  for  while  man  may 
get  much  that  is  of  vast  importance 
by  contact  with  the  working  race  of 
the  past,  he  cannot  get  either  the 
richest  material  or  put  himself  under 
the  deepest  educational  process  with 
out  making  himself  one  with  the 
192 


Sharing  the  Race-Fortune 

working  race  of  to-day.  The  race- 
fortune,  unlike  other  fortunes,  does 
not  increase  by  its  own  productive 
powers ;  it  grows  only  as  it  is  em 
ployed  by  those  who  inherit  it. 
Investments  of  capital  often  lose 
their  vitality  ;  they  still  represent  a 
definite  sum  of  money,  but  they  make 
no  returns  of  interest.  In  like  man 
ner  the  accumulations  of  the  race  be 
come  dead  unless  they  are  constantly 
vitalised  by  effective  use.  The 
richest  material  for  culture  is  value 
less  unless  it  is  so  employed  as 
continually  to  renew  the  temper  of 
culture  in  those  who  possess  it.  The 
richest  results  of  past  toil,  genius,  and 
life  are  without  significance  in  the 
hands  of  the  ignorant ;  and  it  has  hap 
pened  more  than  once  that  the  pearls 
of  past  civilisation  have  been  trampled 
into  the  mire  by  the  feet  of  swine. 
*3  193 


Work  and  Culture 

The  architectural  remains  of  the  older 
Rome  were  ruthlessly  destroyed  in 
the  years  before  the  Renaissance  and 
put  to  menial  use  as  mere  building 
material.  They  had  reverted  to  the 
condition  and  value  of  crude  stone, 
because  no  one  perceived  their  higher 
values. 

There  is,  unfortunately,  another 
kind  of  ignorance,  not  quite  so  dense 
as  that  which  does  not  recognise 
beauty  of  form  or  value  of  historical 
association,  but  not  less  destructive  ; 
there  is  that  ignorance  of  the  spiritual 
force  behind  the  form  which  makes 
a  fetich  of  the  form,  and  so  misses  the 
interior  wealth  which  it  contains. 
There  has  spread  among  men  and 
women  of  the  dilettante  temper  the 
belief  that  to  know  the  results  and 
products  of  the  past  simply  as  curios 
and  relics  is  to  share  the  culture 
194 


Sharing  the  Race-Fortune 

which  these  things  of  beauty  and 
skill  embody  and  preserve ;  and  this 
false  idea  has  helped  to  spread  abroad 
the  feeling  that  culture  is  accom 
plishment  rather  than  force,  and  that 
it  is  for  the  idle  rather  than  for  the 
active  and  creative.  There  never  was 
a  more  radical  misconception  of  a 
fundamental  process,  for  culture  in 
the  true  sense  involves,  as  a  process, 
the  highest  and  truest  development 
of  a  race,  and,  as  a  product,  the 
most  enduring  spiritual  expression 
of  race  genius  and  experience.  The 
culture  of  the  Greeks  was  the  highest 
form  of  their  vital  force ;  and  the 
product  of  that  culture  was  not 
only  their  imperishable  art,  but  their 
political,  social,  and  religious  organisa 
tion  and  ideals.  Their  deepest  life 
went  into  their  culture,  and  the  most 
enduring  fruits  of  that  culture  are 


Work  and  Culture 

also  the  most  significant  expressions 
of  their  life. 

To  get  at  the  sources  of  power  in 
Shakespeare's  plays,  one  must  not 
only  understand  the  secrets  of  their 
structure  as  works  of  art,  but  one 
must  also  discern  their  value  as  human 
documents  ;  one  must  pass  through 
them  into  the  passion,  the  suffering, 
the  toil  of  the  race.  No  one  can  get 
to  the  heart  of  those  plays  without 
getting  very  near  to  the  heart  of  his 
race ;  and  no  one  can  secure  the 
fruits  of  culture  from  their  study 
until  he  has  come  to  see,  with 
Shakespeare,  that  the  unrecorded  life- 
experience  of  the  race  is  more  beauti 
ful,  more  tragic,  and  more  absorbing 
than  all  the  transcriptions  of  that 
experience  made  by  men  of  genius. 
In  other  words,  the  ultimate  result 
of  a  true  study  of  Shakespeare  is 
196 


Sharing  the  Race-Fortune 

such  an  opening  of  the  mind  and 
such  a  quickening  of  the  imagination 
that  the  student  sees  on  all  sides,  in 
the  lives  of  those  about  him,  the 
stuff  of  which  the  drama  is  made. 
Not  to  the  idle,  but  to  the  workers, 
does  Shakespeare  reveal  himself. 


197 


Chapter  XXI 

The  Imagination  in  Work 

THE  uses  of  the  imagination  are 
so  little  understood  by  the 
great  majority  of  men,  both  trained 
and  untrained,  that  it  is  practically 
ignored  not  only  in  the  conduct  of 
life,  but  of  education.  It  receives 
some  incidental  development  as  a 
result  of  educational  processes,  but 
the  effort  to  reach  and  affect  it  as  the 
faculties  of  observation,  of  reasoning, 
and  of  memory  are  made  specific 
objects  of  training  and  unfolding,  is 
rarely  made.  It  is  relegated  to  the 
service  of  the  poets  and  painters  if  it 
is  recognised  at  all ;  and  so  far  as 
they  are  concerned  it  is  assumed  that 
198 


The  Imagination  in  Work 

they  will  find  their  own  way  of  edu 
cating  this  elusive  faculty.  As  for 
other  men,  dealing  with  life  from  the 
executive  or  practical  sides,  it  is  taken 
for  granted  that  if  they  have  imagina- 

O  J  O 

tion  they  can  find  no  proper  use  for 
it.  Individual  teachers  have  often 
understood  the  place  and  function  of 
the  imagination,  and  have  sought  to 
liberate  and  enrich  it  by  intelligently 
planned  study;  but  the  schools  of 
most,  if  not  of  all,  times  have  treated 
it  as  a  wayward  and  disorderly  gift, 
not  amenable  to  discipline  and  train 
ing,  and  of  very  doubtful  value. 
There  has  always  been,  in  every 
highly  civilised  society,  a  good  deal 
that  has  appealed  to  this  divinest  of 
all  the  gifts  with  which  men  have 
been  endowed ;  there  have  been 
periods  in  which  the  imagination  has 
been  stirred  to  its  depths  by  the  force 
199 


Work  and  Culture 

of  human  energy  and  the  play  and 
splendour  of  human  experience  and 
achievement ;  but  there  has  never  yet 
been  adequate  recognition  of  its  place 
in  the  life  of  the  individual  and  of 
society,  nor  intelligent  provision  for 
its  education.  The  movements  of 
thought  along  educational  lines  in 
recent  years  show,  however,  a  slow 
but  steady  drift  toward  a  clearer  con 
ception  of  what  the  imagination  may 
do  for  men,  and  of  what  education 
may  do  for  the  imagination. 

So  long  as  the  uses  of  the  imagina 
tion  in  creative  work  are  so  little 
comprehended  by  the  great  majority 
of  men,  it  can  hardly  be  expected  that 
its  practical  uses  will  be  understood. 
There  is  a  general  if  somewhat  vague 
recognition  of  the  force  and  beauty  of 
its  achievements  as  illustrated  in  the 
work  of  Dante,  Raphael,  Rembrandt, 

200 


The  Imagination  in  Work 

and  Wagner ;  but  very  few  people 
perceive  the  play  of  this  supreme 
architectural  and  structural  faculty  in 
the  great  works  of  engineering,  or  in 
the  sublime  guesses  at  truth  which 
science  sometimes  makes  when  she 
comes  to  the  end  of  the  solid  road  of 
fact  along  which  she  has  travelled. 
The  scientist,  the  engineer,  the  con 
structive  man  in  every  department  of 
work,  use  the  imagination  quite  as 
much  as  the  artist ;  for  the  imagina 
tion  is  not  a  decorator  and  embel 
lisher,  as  so  many  appear  to  think ; 
it  is  a  creator  and  constructor. 
Wherever  work  is  done  on  great 
lines  or  life  is  lived  in  fields  of 
constant  fertility,  the  imagination  is 
always  the  central  and  shaping  power. 
Burke  lifted  statesmanship  to  a  lofty 
plane  by  the  use  of  it ;  Edison,  Tesla, 
and  Roebling  in  their  various  ways 

2OI 


Work  and  Culture 

have  shown  its  magical  quality ;  and 
more  than  one  man  of  fortune  owes 
his  success  more  to  his  imagination 
than  to  that  practical  sagacity  which 
is  commonly  supposed  to  be  the 
conjurer  which  turns  all  baser  metals 
into  gold. 

That  splendour  of  the  spirit  which 
shines  in  the  great  art  of  the  world 
shines  also  in  all  lesser  work  that  is 
genuine  and  sincere ;  for  the  higher 
genius  of  man,  which  is  the  heritage 
of  all  who  make  themselves  ready  to 
receive  it,  is  present  in  all  places 
where  honest  men  work,  and  moulds 
all  materials  which  honest  men  handle. 
Indeed  the  most  convincing  evidence 
of  the  activity  of  this  supreme  faculty 
is  to  be  found,  not  in  the  works  of 
men  of  exceptional  gift,  but  in  the 
work  of  the  obscure  and  undistin 
guished.  It  is  impossible  to  energise 


The  Imagination  in  Work 

the  imagination  among  the  workers 
without  energising  it  among  the  art 
ists  ;  and  artists  never  appear  in  great 
numbers  unless  there  is  in  the  com 
mon  work  of  common  men  a  touch 
of  vitality  and  freshness.  A  real 
movement  of  the  imagination  is 
never  confined  to  a  class  ;  it  is  always 
shared  by  the  community.  It  does 
not  come  in  like  a  group  of  unrelated 
rivulets  fed  by  separate  fountains ;  it 
comes  like  a  tide,  slowly  or  swiftly 
rising  until  it  enfolds  a  wide  reach  of 
territory.  The  presence  of  a  true  art 
spirit  shows  itself  not  so  conclusively 
in  a  few  noble  works  as  in  the  touch 
of  originality  and  beauty  on  common 
articles  in  common  use ;  on  furniture, 
and  domestic  pottery,  and  in  the  love 
of  flowers. 

The  genius  of  a  race  works  from 
below  upward,  as  the  seed  sends  its 
203 


Work  and  Culture 

shoot  out  of  the  hidden  place  where 
it  is  buried ;  and  when  it  becomes 
luminous  in  books,  painting,  and 
architecture,  it  grows  also  in  out-of- 
the-way  places  and  in  things  of 
humble  use.  The  instinct  for  beauty, 
which  is  more  pronounced  and  fruit 
ful  among  the  Japanese  than  among 
any  other  modern  people,  shows  itself 
most  convincingly  in  the  originality, 
variety,  and  charm  of  the  shapes 
which  household  pottery  takes  on, 
and  in  the  quiet  but  deep  enjoyment 
of  the  blossoming  apple  or  cherry, 
the  blooming  vine  or  the  fragrant 
rose.  It  is  the  presence  of  beauty 
diffused  through  the  life  of  a  people 
in  habit,  taste,  pleasure,  and  daily  use 
which  makes  the  concentration  of 
beauty  in  great  and  enduring  works 
not  only  possible  but  inevitable ;  for 
if  a  people  really  care  for  beauty  they 
204 


The  Imagination  in  Work 

will  never  lack  artists  to  give  endur 
ing  expression  to  that  craving  which, 
among  men  of  lesser  gift,  shows  itself 
in  a  constant  endeavour  to  bring 
material  surroundings  into  harmony 
with  spiritual  aspirations. 

This  play  of  the  imagination  over 
the  whole  landscape  of  life  gives  it 
perennial  charm,  because  it  perpetu 
ally  re-forms  and  re-arranges  it ;  and 
the  free  movement  of  the  imagination 
in  all  occupations  and  tasks  not  only 
makes  work  a  delight,  but  gives  it 
a  significance  and  adequacy,  which 
make  it  the  fit  expression,  not  of  a 
mere  skill,  but  of  an  immortal  spirit. 
The  work  from  which  this  quality  is 
absent  may  be  honest  and  sincere,  but 
it  cannot  be  liberalising,  joyful,  and 
contagious ;  it  cannot  give  the  nature 
free  play ;  it  cannot  express  the  man. 
Patience,  persistence,  fidelity  are  fun- 
205 


Work  and  Culture 

damental  but  not  creative  qualities  ; 
the  true  worker  must  possess  and 
practise  them  ;  but  he  must  go  far 
beyond  them  if  he  is  to  put  himself 
into  his  work,  and  bring  his  work  into 
harmony  with  those  spiritual  condi 
tions  and  aims  which  are  the  invisible 
but  final  standards  and  patterns  of  all 
works  and  tasks. 

One  may  always  get  out  of  hard 
work  the  satisfaction  which  comes 
from  the  consciousness  of  an  honest 
endeavour  to  do  an  honest  piece  of 
work ;  but  the  work  which  inspires 
rather  than  exhausts,  and  the  doing 
of  which  gives  the  hand  more  free 
dom  and  power  for  the  next  task, 
must  be  penetrated,  suffused,  and 
shaped  by  the  imagination.  The 
great  lawyer,  physician,  electrician, 
teacher,  and  builder  must  give  his 
work  largeness,  completeness,  and 
206 


The  Imagination  in  Work 

nobility  of  structure  by  the  use  of 
the  imagination  in  as  real  and  true 
a  sense  as  the  great  poet  or  painter. 
Without  it  all  work  is  hard,  detached, 
mechanical ;  with  it  all  work  is  vital, 
co-ordinated,  original.  It  must  shape, 
illumine,  and  adorn ;  it  must  build 
the  house,  light  the  lamp  within  its 
walls,  and  impart  to  it  that  touch  of 
beauty  which  invests  wood  and  stone 
with  the  lightness,  the  grace,  and  the 
loveliness  of  spirit  itself.  We  begin 
with  the  imagination ;  it  holds  its 
light  over  the  play  of  childhood  ;  it  is 
the  master  of  the  revels,  the  enchant 
ments,  and  the  dreams  of  youth ;  it 
must  be  also  the  inspiration  of  all  toil 
and  the  shaping  genius  of  all  work. 


207 


Chapter  XXII 

The  Play  of  the  Imagination 

IT  is  interesting  to  study  the  per 
sonality  of  a  man  whose  work 
is  invested  with  freshness,  charm,  and 
individuality,  because  such  a  study 
invariably  makes  us  aware  of  that 
subtle  and  elusive  skill  in  the  use  of 
all  materials  which  is  not  technical 
but  vital.  That  skill  is  impossible 
without  special  training,  but  it  is  not 
the  product  of  training ;  it  is  not 
dexterity  ;  it  is  not  facility ;  it  has 
the  ease  and  grace  of  a  harmonious 
expression  of  all  that  is  distinctive 
and  original  in  the  man.  No  one 
thinks  of  technical  skill  in  that  mo 
ment  of  revelation  which  comes  when 
208 


The  Play  of  the  Imagination 

one  stands  for  the  first  time  in  the 
presence  of  a  noble  work  ;  later  one 
may  study  at  length  and  with  de 
light  the  perfection  of  workmanship 
disclosed  in  solidity  of  structure  and 
in  harmony  of  detail  ;  but  in  the 
moment  of  revelation  it  is  the  essen 
tial  and  interior  truth  and  beauty, 
which  shine  from  form  and  colour  and 
texture  as  the  soul  shines  in  a  human 
face,  which  evoke  a  thrill  of  recogni 
tion  in  us. 

Now,  this  higher  skill  which  dom 
inates  and  subordinates  the  technical 
skill,  this  skill  of  the  spirit  which 
commands  and  uses  the  skill  of  the 
body,  is  born  in  the  soul  of  the 
worker  and  is  the  ultimate  evidence 
and  fruit  of  his  mastership.  It  is 
conditioned  on  the  free  play  of  the 
imagination  through  all  the  material 
which  the  worker  uses.  It  involves 
14  209 


Work  and  Culture 

that  fusion  of  knowledge,  intelligence, 
facility,  and  insight  which  can  be  ef 
fected  only  by  the  constant  use  of 
the  imagination.  In  statesmanship 
Burke  and  Webster  are  examples  of 
this  highest  type  of  worker ;  men 
who  not  only  command  the  facts 
with  which  they  are  called  upon  to 
deal,  but  who  so  organise  and  vitalise 
those  facts  that,  in  their  final  presen 
tation,  they  possess  the  force  of  irre 
sistible  argument,  and  are  illumined 
and  clothed  with  perennial  beauty  as 
works  of  art.  In  like  manner,  in  the 
pulpit,  Chrysostom,  Fenelon,  New 
man,  and  Brooks  not  only  set  reli 
gious  truth  in  impressive  order,  but 
gave  it  the  appealing  power  of  a  noble 
and  enduring  beauty. 

It  is  impossible  to  do  a  great  piece 
of  work  unless  one  can  form  an 
image  of  it  in  advance,  unless  one 

2IO 


The  Play  of  the  Imagination 

can  see  it  as  it  will  finally  appear. 
If  one  were  limited  in  vision  to  the 
detail  actually  in  hand,  the  whole 
would  never  be  completed ;  that 
which  makes  the  perfection  of  the 
whole  possible  is  the  ability  of  the 
worker  to  keep  that  whole  before 
him  while  he  deals  with  the  detached 
parts.  Without  that  power  the 
worker  is  a  mechanical  drudge,  whose 
work  has  no  quality  save  that  of 
dogged  fidelity  to  the  task.  Now, 
this  power  of  keeping  the  whole 
before  the  mind  while  dealing  with 
the  parts,  of  seeing  the  completed 
machine  while  shaping  a  pin  or  a  cog, 
of  getting  the  complete  effect  of  the 
argument  while  elaborating  a  minor 
point,  resides  in  the  imagination.  It 
is  the  light  which  must  shine  upon 
all  toil  that  has  in  it  intelligence,  pre 
vision,  and  freshness  ;  and  its  glow  is 

211 


Work  and  Culture 

as  essential  in  mechanical  as  in  purely 
artistic  work.  Whenever,  in  any 
kind  of  work  dealing  with  any  kind 
of  material,  there  is  any  constructive 
quality,  any  fitting  of  part  with  part, 
any  adjustment  of  means  to  ends, 
there  must  be  imagination. 

Work  which  is  done  without  im 
agination  is  so  rudimentary  that,  at 
the  best,  its  highest  use  is  to  save 
some  one  else  a  little  drudgery. 
This  elementary  kind  of  work  is 
often  done  by  those  students  of  liter 
ature  who  confuse  the  study  of  gram 
matical  construction  with  style,  and 
those  students  of  the  Bible  who  think 
they  are  illustrating  the  truths  of 
religion  by  purely  textual  study. 
Theology  has  suffered  many  things 
at  the  hands  of  those  who  have  at 
tempted  to  explain  the  divine  mys 
teries  without  the  light  which  alone 

212 


The  Play  of  the  Imagination 

penetrates  these  mysteries.  To  do 
the  commonest  work  with  sincerity 
and  force  ;  to  understand  the  simplest 
character;  to  perform  the  simplest 
services  of  friendship  ;  to  enter  into 
another's  trial  and  to  give  the  balm 
of  sympathy  to  one  who  is  smit 
ten  and  bruised ;  to  conduct  a  cam 
paign  by  foreseeing  the  movements 
of  an  adversary,  or  to  carry  on 
successfully  a  great  enterprise  by  fore 
casting  its  probable  development ;  to 
make  any  invention  or  discovery  ;  to 
be  a  really  great  preacher,  physician, 
lawyer,  teacher,  mechanic  ;  —  to  do 
any  of  these  things  one  must  have 
and  one  must  use  the  imagination. 
The  charm  with  which  the  imagi 
nation  invests  childhood  is  due  to 
its  habitual  and  unconscious  use  by 
children,  and  is  suggestive  of  the 
methods  by  which  this  faculty  may 
213 


Work  and  Culture 

be  made  the  inspirer  of  all  tasks  and 
toil.  The  child  makes  vivid  images 
of  the  ideas  which  appeal  to  it ;  it 
gives  reality  to  those  ideas  by  identi 
fying  them  with  the  objective  world; 
it  clothes  all  things  with  which  it 
plays  with  life.  In  his  autobiography 
Goethe  describes  the  door  in  the  wall 
of  a  certain  garden  in  Frankfort  with 
in  which  many  marvellous  things 
happened ;  a  true  romance  of  inci 
dent  and  adventure  which  became  as 
real  to  the  romancer  as  to  his  eager 
and  credulous  listeners.  De  Quin- 
cey  created  an  imaginary  kingdom, 
peopled  with  imaginary  beings  whom 
he  ruled  with  benignant  wisdom, 
amid  universal  prosperity  and  peace, 
until,  in  an  unlucky  hour,  he  ad 
mitted  his  brother  into  a  partnership 
of  authority ;  and  that  brother,  un 
able  to  withstand  the  temptation  of 
214 


The  Play  of  the  Imagination 

absolute  power,  became  a  remorseless 
tyrant.  And  De  Quincey  feelingly 
describes  the  reality  of  his  anguish 
when,  to  protect  his  innocent  sub 
jects  from  a  tyrant's  rapacity,  he  was 
compelled  to  destroy  his  imaginary 
kingdom.  The  imaginative  boy  turns 
a  vacant  lot  into  an  African  jungle, 
and  hunts  wild  beasts  in  constant 
peril  of  his  life ;  the  imaginative  girl 
carries  on  social  intercourse  with  her 
dolls  as  seriously  as  with  her  most 
intimate  playmates.  Everything  is 
real  and  alive  to  a  child,  and  the 
world  of  ideas  has  as  much  substance 
as  the  world  of  matter. 

These  characteristics  of  a  child  in 
its  play  throw  clear  light  on  the  true 
methods  of  the  man  in  his  work ;  for 
the  play  of  childhood  is  prophetic  of 
the  work  of  maturity  ;  it  is  the  pre 
lude  in  which  all  the  great  motives 
215 


Work  and  Culture 

are  distinctly  audible.  The  man  who 
gives  his  work  completeness  and 
charm  must  conceive  of  that  work, 
not  as  a  detached  and  isolated  activity, 
but  as  part  of  the  great  order  of  life ; 
a  product  of  the  vital  forces  as  truly 
as  the  flower  which  has  its  roots  in 
the  earth.  To  the  growth  of  the 
flower  everything  contributes  ;  it  is 
not  limited  to  the  tiny  plot  in  which 
it  is  planted :  the  vast  chemistry  of 
nature  in  soil,  atmosphere,  and  sky 
nourish  it.  In  like  manner  a  man 
must  habitually  think  of  his  work, 
not  as  a  mere  putting  forth  of 
his  technical  skill,  but  as  the  vital 
product  of  all  the  forces  which  sustain 
him.  A  real  poem  grows  out  of  all 
that  is  deepest  in  a  man's  nature ;  to 
its  making  in  spiritual  conception, 
structure,  form,  and  style  his  body, 
his  mind,  and  his  soul  contribute ; 
216 


The  Play  of  the  Imagination 

its  metre  adjusting  itself  to  his 
breathing,  its  ideas  taking  direction 
and  significance  from  his  thought, 
and  its  elusive  suggestiveness  and 
beauty  conveying  something  of  his 
mysterious  personality.  A  true  ser 
mon  is  never  what  is  sometimes  called 
a  pulpit  effort ;  it  is  always  the  prod 
uct  of  the  preacher's  experience ;  he 
does  not  and  cannot  make  it ;  it  must 
grow  within  him.  A  great  oration 
has  the  same  vital  relationship  with 
the  orator,  the  occasion,  the  theme, 
and  human  experience.  It  is  never 
a  bit  of  detached  brilliancy  ;  it  is 
always,  like  Lincoln's  address  at 
Gettysburg,  the  summing  up  and 
expression  of  a  vast  and  deep  move 
ment  of  the  human  spirit.  In  its 
form  it  reveals  the  man  who  makes 
it ;  in  its  content  it  is  seen  to  be  in 
evitable.  It  lies  in  the  consciousness 
217 


Work  and  Culture 

of  a  race  before  it  rises  into  the  con 
sciousness  of  the  orator  and  takes 
flight  on  the  wings  of  immortal 
speech. 

To  think  habitually  of  one's  work 
as  a  growth  and  not  a  thing  made  out 
of  hand,  as  a  product  of  all  the 
forces  of  one's  nature  and  not  a  bit 
of  skill,  as  alive  in  the  sense  in 
which  all  things  are  alive  in  which 
spirit  and  life  express  themselves, — 
to  conceive  of  one's  work  in  this  large 
and  vital  way  is  to  keep  the  imagina 
tion  playing  through  and  inspiring 
it. 


218 


Abraham  Lincoln. 


Abraham  Lincoln. 


Chapter  XXIII 

Character 

SUPERIORITY  of  any  kind 
involves  discipline,  self-denial, 
and  self-sacrifice.  It  is  the  law  of 
excellence  that  he  who  would  secure 
it  must  pay  for  it.  In  this  way  the 
intellectual  process  is  bound  up  with 
the  moral  process,  and  a  man  must 
give  his  character  firmness  and  fibre 
before  he  can  make  his  talent  effec 
tive  or  his  genius  fruitful.  The 
way  of  the  most  gifted  workman  is 
no  easier  than  that  of  the  most 
mediocre ;  he  learns  his  lesson  more 
easily,  but  he  must  learn  the  same 
lesson.  The  familiar  story  of  the 
Sleeping  Princess  protected  by  a 
hedge  of  thorns,  told  in  so  many 

2IQ 


Work  and  Culture 

languages,  is  a  parable  of  all  success 
of  a  high  order.  The  highest  prizes 
are  always  guarded  from  the  facile 
hand ;  they  exact  patience,  persist 
ence,  intelligence,  and  force.  If  they 
were  easily  secured  they  would  be 
easily  misused ;  it  rarely  happens, 
however,  that  a  man  of  high  artistic 
gifts  degrades  his  talent.  He  may 
set  it  to  unprofitable  uses,  but  he 
rarely  makes  merchandise  of  it.  A 
Rembrandt,  Thackeray,  or  Lowell 
cannot  do  inferior  work  for  personal 
ends  without  suffering  that  devouring 
remorse  which  accompanies  the  con 
science  of  the  artist,  and  turns  all 
ignoble  popular  successes  into  mock 
eries  and  scourges. 

Moral  education  precedes  master 
ship  in  every  art,  because  the  training 
which  mastery   involves  reacts  upon 
character  and  gives  it  steadiness  and 
220 


Character 

solidity.  Great  writers  have  some 
times  lived  careless,  irresponsible 
lives,  but  they  have  always  paid  a 
great  price  for  self-indulgence.  The 
work  of  an  irresponsible  man  of 
genius  always  suggests  the  loss  which 
society  has  suffered  by  reason  of  his 
moral  instability.  Such  men  have 
done  charming  work ;  they  have 
touched  their  creations  with  the 
magic  of  natural  grace  and  the  beauty 
of  fresh  and  rich  feeling ;  but  they 
miss  that  completeness  and  finality 
which  carry  with  them  the  conviction 
that  the  man  has  put  forth  all  that 
was  in  him.  We  value  what  they 
have  done,  but  we  are  always  asking 
whether  they  could  not  have  done 
more.  Genius  is  of  so  rare  and  vital 
a  nature  that  it  will  flash  through  all 
manner  of  obscurations,  but  there  is 
a  vast  difference  between  the  light 

221 


Work  and  Culture 

which  shines  through  a  clear  medium 
and  that  which  is  dimmed  and  re 
flected  by  a  murky  atmosphere.  A 
man  of  Chatterton's  temperament  will 
give  evidence  of  the  possession  of 
genius,  but  how  far  removed  he  is,  in 
influence,  position,  and  power,  from  a 
Tennyson  or  a  Wordsworth  ! 

The  connection  between  sane  living 
and  sound  work  is  a  physiological 
and  psychological  necessity.  The 
time,  strength,  poise,  capacity  for 
sustained  work,  steadiness  of  will, 
involved  in  the  successful  perform 
ance  of  great  tasks  or  the  production 
of  great  artistic  creations  exclude  from 
the  race  all  save  those  who  bring  to 
it  health,  vigour,  and  energy.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  inquire  with  regard  to 
the  habits  of  the  man  who  builds  up 
a  great  business  enterprise  or  who 
secures  genuine  financial  reputation 

222 


Character 

and  authority ;  these  achievements 
always  involve  self-control,  courage, 
persistence,  and  moral  vigour.  They 
are  beyond  the  reach  of  the  self- 
indulgent  man.  The  man  whose 
weakness  of  will  makes  him  the  victim 
of  appetite  or  passion  may  make  bril 
liant  efforts,  but  he  is  incapable  of 
sustained  effort ;  he  may  do  beautiful 
things  from  time  to  time,  he  cannot 

o  * 

do  beautiful  things  continuously  and 
on  a  large  scale.  A  Villon  may  give 
the  world  a  few  songs  of  notable 
sweetness  or  power ;  he  cannot  give 
the  world  a  Divine  Comedy  or  the 
plays  of  Corneille. 

Every  attempt  to  dissever  art  from 
character,  however  brilliantly  sus 
tained,  is  doomed  to  failure  because 
the  instinct,  the  intelligence,  and  the 
experience  of  the  race  are  against  it. 
Physiology  and  psychology  are  as 
223 


Work  and  Culture 

definite  as  religion  in  their  declara 
tions  on  this  matter  ;  it  is  not  a  ques 
tion  of  dogma  or  even  of  faith  ;  it  is 
a  question  of  elementary  laws  and  of 
common  sense.  All  modern  investi 
gation  goes  to  show  the  subtle  and 
vital  relations  which  exist  between 
the  different  parts  of  a  man's  nature, 
and  the  certainty  of  the  reaction  of 
one  part  upon  another  ;  so  that  what 
ever  touches  the  body  ultimately 
touches  the  innermost  nature  of  the 
man,  and  whatever  affects  the  spirit 
eventually  leaves  its  record  on  the 
physique.  Every  piece  of  genuine 
work  which  comes  from  a  man's  hand 
bears  the  impress  of  and  is  stamped 
with  the  quality  of  his  whole  being ; 
it  is  the  complex  product  of  all  that 
the  man  is  and  of  all  that  he  has 
done ;  it  is  the  result  of  his  genius, 
his  industry,  and  his  character. 
224 


Character 

Goethe  saw  clearly,  as  every  critic 
of  insight  must  see,  that  the  artist  is 
conditioned  on  the  man ;  that  when 
ever  a  man  does  anything  which  has 
greatness  in  it  he  does  it  with  his 
whole  nature.  Into  his  verse  the  poet 
puts  his  body,  his  mind,  and  his  sou! ; 
he  is  as  powerless  to  detach  his  work 
from  his  past  as  he  is  to  detach  him 
self  from  it ;  and  one  of  the  saddest 
penalties  of  his  misdoings  is  their 
survival  in  his  work.  The  dul- 
ness  of  the  poet's  ear  shows  itself  in 
the  defective  melody  of  his  verse  ;  for 
both  metre  and  rhythm  have  a  physi 
ological  basis  ;  they  represent  and  ex 
press  the  harmony  which  is  in  the 
body  when  the  body  is  finely  attuned 
to  the  spirit.  Dull  senses  and  a 
sluggish  body  are  never  found  in 
connection  with  a  great  command  of 
the  melodic  quality  in  language. 
iS  22$ 


Work  and  Culture 

Goethe,  with  his  deep  insight,  held 
so  uncompromisingly  to  the  unity  of 
man  and  his  works,  that  he  would 
not  have  tried  to  escape  the  crit 
icism  of  his  nature  which  his  works, 
adequately  interpreted,  suggest.  He 
would  have  expected  to  find  his 
moral  limitations  reproduced  in  his 
art.  He  indicated  the  fundamental 
principle  when  he  said  that  his  works, 
taken  together,  constituted  one  great 
confession.  And  this  may  be  affirmed 
of  every  man's  work;  it  is  inevitably, 
and  by  the  law  of  his  nature,  a  dis 
closure  of  what  he  is,  and  what  he  is 
depends  largely  upon  what  he  has 
been.  Men  have  nowhere  more 
conspicuously  failed  to  escape  them 
selves  than  in  their  works.  Literary 
history,  especially,  is  a  practically  un 
used  treasure-house  of  moral  illustra 
tion  and  teaching ;  for  in  no  other 
226 


Character 

record  of  human  activity  is  the  de 
pendence  of  a  man's  work  on  his 
nature  more  constantly  and  strikingly 
brought  out.  The  subtle  relation 
between  temperament,  genius,  en 
vironment,  and  character  is  in  con 
stant  evidence  to  the  student  of 
literature ;  and  he  learns  at  last  the 
primary  truth  that  because  a  man's 
work  is  a  revelation  of  the  man,  it  is, 
therefore,  as  much  a  matter  of  his 
character  as  of  his  genius. 

The  order  of  the  world  is  moral 
in  every  fibre  ;  men  may  do  what 
they  please  within  certain  limits,  and 
because  they  do  what  they  please 
society  seems  to  be  in  a  state  of  moral 
chaos ;  but  every  word  and  deed 
reacts  instantly  on  the  man,  and  this 
reaction  is  so  inevitable  that  since 
time  began  not  one  violator  of  any 
law  of  life  has  ever  escaped  the 
227 


Work  and  Culture 

penalty.  He  has  paid  the  price  of 
his  word  or  his  deed  on  the  instant 
in  its  reaction  upon  his  character. 
God  does  not  punish  men  ;  they 
punish  themselves  in  their  own 
natures  and  in  the  work  of  their 
hands.  When  Mirabeau,  in  the  con 
sciousness  of  the  possession  of  the 
most  masterful  genius  of  his  time, 
rose  to  speak  in  the  States  General, 
he  became  aware  that  his  dissolute 
past  was  standing  beside  him  and 
mocking  him.  His  vast  power,  hon 
estly  put  forth  for  great  ends,  was 
neutralised  by  a  record  which  made 
belief  in  him  almost  impossible.  In 
bitterness  of  soul  he  learned  that 
genius  and  character  are  bound 
together  by  indissoluble  ties,  and 
that  genius  without  character  is  like 
oil  that  blazes  up  and  dies  down 
about  a  shattered  lamp.  More  than 
228 


Character 

once,  in  words  full  of  the  deepest 
pathos,  he  recognised  the  immense 
value  of  character  in  men  of  far  less 
ability  than  himself.  The  words  which 
Mrs.  Ward  puts  into  the  mouth 
of  Henri  Regnault  are  memorable 
as  embodying  searching  criticism: 
"  No,  we  don't  lack  brains,  we  French. 
All  the  same,  I  tell  you,  in  the  whole 
of  that  room  there  are  about  half-a- 
dozen  people,  —  oh,  not  so  many  !  — 
not  nearly  so  many  !  —  who  will  ever 
make  a  mark,  even  for  their  own  gen 
eration,  who  will  ever  strike  anything 
out  of  nature  that  is  worth  having  — 
wrestle  with  her  to  any  purpose. 
Why  ?  Because  they  have  every 
sort  of  capacity  —  every  sort  of 
cleverness  —  and  no  character  !  " 

If  a  man  is  insensibly  determining 
the  quality  of  his  work  by  everything 
which  he  is  doing;   if   he  is   fixing 
.      229 


Work  and  Culture 

the  excellence  of  its  workmanship  by 
the  standards  he  is  accepting  and  the 
habits  he  is  forming  ;  if  he  is  creating 
in  advance  its  spiritual  content  and 
significance  by  the  quality  which  his 
own  nature  is  unconsciously  taking 
on ;  and  if  he  is  determining  its 
quantity  and  force  by  the  strength, 
persistence,  and  steadfastness  which 
he  is  developing,  it  is  clear  that 
work  rests  ultimately  upon  character, 
and  that  character  conditions  work 
in  quality,  content,  skill,  and  mass. 


230 


Chapter  XXIV 

Freedom  from  Self-Consciousness 

THE  sublime  paradox  of  the 
spiritual  life  is  repeated  in  all 
true  development  of  personal  gift  and 
power.  In  order  to  find  his  life  a  man 
must  first  lose  it ;  in  order  to  keep  his 
soul  a  man  must  first  give  it.  The 
beginning  of  all  education  is  self-con 
scious  ;  at  the  start  every  effect  must 
be  calculated,  every  skill,  method,  or 
dexterity  carefully  studied.  Training 
involves  a  rigid  account  of  oneself 
based  on  searching  self-knowledge. 
To  become  an  effective  speaker  one 
must  know  his  defects  of  bearing, 
gesture,  voice ;  one  must  bring  his 
whole  personality  into  clear  light,  and 
231 


Work  and  Culture 

study  it  as  if  it  were  an  external 
thing ;  one  must  become  intensely 
self-conscious.  The  initiation  to 
every  art  is  through  this  door  of 
rigid  scrutiny  of  self,  and  entire  sur 
render  of  self  to  the  discipline  of 
minute  study  and  exacting  practice. 
The  pianist  knows  the  artistic  value 
of  every  note,  and  strikes  each  note 
with  carefully  calculated  effect.  The 
artist  gives  himself  up  to  a  patient 
study  of  details,  and  is  content  with 
the  monotony  of  laborious  imitation  ; 
subjecting  every  element  of  material 
and  manner  to  the  most  thorough 
analysis. 

The  first  stage  in  the  education  of 
the  true  worker  is  self-conscious  ;  the 
final  stage  is  self-forgetful.  No  man 
can  enter  the  final  stage  without  pass 
ing  through  the  initial  stage ;  no 
man  can  enter  the  final  stage  without 
232 


Freedom  from  Self-Consciousness 

leaving  the  initial  stage  behind  him. 
One  must  first  develop  intense  self- 
consciousness,  and  then  one  must  be 
able  to  forget  and  obliterate  himself. 
One  must  first  accept  the  most  exact 
ing  discipline  of  the  school,  and  then 
one  must  forget  that  schools  exist. 
The  apprentice  is  the  servant  of 
detail ;  the  master  is  the  servant  of 
the  idea :  the  first  accepts  methods 
as  if  they  were  the  finalities  of  art ; 
the  second  uses  them  as  mere  instru 
ments.  Tennyson's  attention  was 
once  called  to  certain  very  subtle 
vowel  effects  in  one  of  his  later 
poems  ;  he  promptly  said  that  he 
had  not  thought  of  them.  That  was 
undoubtedly  true,  for  he  had  become 
a  master ;  but  there  was  a  time,  in 
his  days  of  apprenticeship,  when  he 
had  studied  the  musical  qualities  and 
resources  of  words  with  the  most 
233 


Work  and  Culture 

searching  intelligence.  The  transi 
tion  from  apprenticeship  to  mastery 
is  accomplished  when  a  man  passes 
through  self-consciousness  into  self- 
forgetful  ness,  when  his  knowledge 
and  skill  become  so  much  a  part  of 
himself  that  they  become  instinctive. 
When  the  artist  has  gained,  through 
calculation,  study,  and  practice,  com 
plete  command  of  himself  and  his 
materials,  he  subordinates  skill  to 
insight,  and  makes  his  art  the  uncon 
scious  expression  of  his  deepest  na 
ture.  When  this  stage  is  reached  the 
artist  can  pour  his  whole  soul  into 
his  work  almost  instinctively ;  his 
skill  and  methods  have  become  so 
completely  a  part  of  himself  that  he 
can  use  them  almost  without  being 
conscious  of  them. 

This  ability  to  transform  skill  into 
character,  to  make   instinct   do   the 
234 


Freedom  from  Self-Consciousness 

work  of  intelligence,  to  pass  from  in 
tense  self-consciousness  into  self-for 
getful  ness,  is  the  supreme  test  to 
which  every  artist  must  subject  him 
self;  let  him  sustain  this  test  and  his 
place  is  secure.  To  find  one's  life  in 
the  deepest  sense,  to  bring  out  and 
express  one's  personality,  a  man  must 
lose  that  life ;  that  is  to  say,  he  must 
have  the  power  of  entire  self-surren 
der.  When  the  inspiration  comes, 
as  it  does  come  to  all  creative  spirits, 
a  man  must  be  able  to  surrender 
himself  to  it  completely.  When  the 
hour  of  vision  arrives  the  prophet 
has  no  time  or  thought  to  waste  on 
himself;  if  he  is  to  speak,  he  must 
listen  with  intense  and  utter  stillness 
of  soul. 

In    the    degree    in    which    a    man 
masters  his  art  does  he  attain  uncon 
sciousness  of  self.     Great  artists  have 
235 


Work  and  Culture 

sometimes  been  great  egotists,  but 
not  in  their  greatest  hours  or  works. 
And  in  so  far  as  their  egotism  has 
touched  their  art  it  has  invariably 
limited  its  range  or  diminished  its 
depth  and  power ;  for  in  those  mo 
ments  in  which  the  vision  is  clearest 
a  man  is  always  lifted  above  himself. 
He  escapes  for  the  moment  the  limi 
tations  which  ordinarily  encircle  him 
as  the  horizon  encircles  the  sea. 

That  which  is  true  of  the  master 
worker,  the  artist,  is  true  of  all  lesser 
workers :  the  highest  efficiency  is 
conditioned  on  the  ability  to  forget 
oneself.  Self-consciousness  is  the 
most  serious  and  painful  limitation 
of  many  men  and  women  of  genuine 
capacity  and  power.  It  rests  like  a 
heavy  load  on  shoulders  which  ought 
to  be  free ;  it  is  an  impediment  of 
speech  when  speech  ought  to  have 
236 


Freedom  from  Self-Consciousness 

entire  spontaneity,  and  freedom. 
This  intense  consciousness  of  self, 
although  always  revealing  a  certain 
amount  of  egoism,  is  often  devoid  of 
egotism  ;  it  is,  in  many  cases,  a  sign 
of  diffidence  and  essential  modesty. 
It  is  the  burden  and  limitation  of 
those  especially  who  have  high  aims 
and  standards,  but  who  distrust  their 
own  ability  to  do  well  the  things  they 
are  eager  to  do.  To  be  self-conscious 
is  to  waste  a  great  deal  of  force  which 
ought  to  go  into  work  ;  it  is  to  put 
into  introspection  the  vitality  which 
ought  to  issue  in  some  form  of 

o 

expression.  The  speaker  is  never  in 
full  command  of  his  theme  or  his 
audience  until  he  has  gotten  rid  of 
himself;  so  long  as  he  has  to  deal 
with  himself  he  cannot  wholly  surren 
der  himself  to  his  theme  nor  to  his 
audience.  He  is  hampered,  troubled, 
237 


Work  and  Culture 

and  anxious   when   he   ought  to  be 
free,  calm,  and  unconcerned. 

There  is  but  one  remedy  for  self- 
consciousness,  and  that  is  absorption 
in  one's  work.  There  must  first  be 
not  only  thorough  preparation  for 
the  task  in  hand  but  thorough  training 
of  the  whole  nature ;  for  every  weak 
place  in  a  man's  education  for  his 
work  is  a  point  of  self-consciousness. 
No  man  of  conscience  can  do  easily 
and  instinctively  that  which  he  knows 
he  cannot  do  well.  The  worker 
must  have,  therefore,  the  serenity 
which  comes  from  confidence  in  the 
adequacy  of  his  preparation.  A  man 
can  even  fail  with  a  clear  conscience, 
if  he  has  taken  every  precaution 
against  the  possibility  of  failure. 
Adequate  training  being  assumed,  a 
man  must  cultivate  the  habit  of  self- 
surrender.  This  is  sometimes  diffi- 
238 


Freedom  from  Self-Consciousness 

cult,  but  it  is  rarely,  if  ever,  impos 
sible. 

To  take  a  further  illustration  from 
the  experience  of  the  speaker,  who 
is,  perhaps,  as  often  as  any  other 
kind  of  worker,  burdened  and  limited 
at  the  start  by  self-consciousness :  it 
is  entirely  possible  to  lose  conscious 
ness  of  self  for  the  time  in  the  theme 
or  the  occasion.  Assuming  that  the 
preparatory  work  has  been  thorough, 
a  man  can  train  himself  to  fasten  his 
thought  entirely  on  his  subject  and 
his  opportunity.  If  his  theme  is  a 
worthy  one  and  he  has  given  adequate 
thought  or  research  to  it,  he  can  learn 
to  forget  himself  and  his  audience  in 
complete  surrender  to  it.  Compan 
ionship  with  truth  invests  a  man  with 
a  dignity  which  ought  to  give  him 
poise  and  serenity ;  which  will  give 
him  calmness  and  effectiveness  if  he 
239 


Work  and  Culture 

regards  himself  as  its  servant  and 
messenger.  An  ambassador  ia  held 
in  great  honour  because  of  the  power 
which  he  represents ;  a  man  who  is 
dealing  in  any  way  with  truth  or 
beauty  has  a  right  to  repose  in  the 
greatness  and  charm  of  that  for  which 
he  stands.  This  transference  of  in 
terest  from  the  outcome  of  a  personal 
effort  to  the  sharing  of  a  vision  or 
the  conveyance  of  a  power  has  often 
made  the  stammerer  eloquent  and 
the  timid  spirit  heroically  indifferent 
to  self.  The  true  refuge  of  the  artist 
is  absorption  in  his  art ;  the  true 
refuge  of  the  self-conscious  worker  is 
complete  surrender  to  the  dignity 
and  interest  of  his  work. 


240 


Chapter    XXV 

Consummation 

IF  the  conception  of  man's  rela 
tion  to  the  world  set  forth  in 
these  chapters  is  sound,  work  is  the 
chief  instrumentality  in  the  educa 
tion  of  the  human  spirit;  for  it  in 
volves  both  self-realisation  and  the 
adjustment  of  self  to  the  order  of  life. 
Through  effort  a  man  brings  to  light 
all  that  is  in  him,  and  by  effort  he 
finds  his  place  in  the  universal  order. 
Work  is  his  great  spiritual  opportun 
ity,  and  the  more  completely  he  ex 
presses  himself  through  it  the  finer 
the  product  and  the  greater  the 
worker.  There  is  an  essential  unity 
between  all  kinds  of  work,  as  there  is 

16  241 


Work  and  Culture 

an  essential  continuity  in  the  life  of 
the  race.  The  rudest  implements  of 
the  earliest  men  and  the  divinest  crea 
tions  of  the  greatest  artists  are  parts 
of  the  unbroken  effort  of  humanity 
to  bring  into  clear  consciousness  all 
that  is  in  it,  and  all  that  is  involved 
in  its  relationship  with  the  universe. 
The  spiritual  history  of  the  race  is 
written  in  the  blurred  and  indistinct 
record  of  human  energy  and  creative- 
ness,  made  by  the  hands  of  all  races, 
in  all  times,  in  every  kind  of  material. 
Work  has  emancipated,  educated, 
developed,  and  interpreted  the  human 
spirit ;  it  has  made  man  acquainted 
with  himself;  it  has  set  him  in  har 
mony  with  nature ;  and  it  has  created 
that  permanent  capital  of  force,  self- 
control,  character,  moral  power,  and 
educational  influence  which  we  call 
civilisation. 

242 


Consummation 

Work  has  been,  therefore,  not  only 
the  supreme  spiritual  opportunity, 
but  the  highest  spiritual  privilege 
and  one  of  the  deepest  sources  of 
joy.  It  has  been  an  expression  not 
only  of  human  energy  but  of  the 
creativeness  of  the  human  spirit.  By 
their  works  men  have  not  only  built 
homes  for  themselves  in  this  vast 
universe,  but  they  have  co-operated 
with  the  divine  creativeness  in  the 
control  of  force,  the  modification 
of  conditions,  the  fertilisation  of 
the  earth,  the  fashioning  of  new 
forms. 

In  his  work  man  has  found  God, 
both  by  the  revelation  of  what  is  in 
his  own  spirit  and  by  the  discovery 
of  those  forces  and  laws  with  which 
every  created  thing  must  be  brought 
into  harmony.  The  divine  element 
in  humanity  has  revealed  itself  in 
243 


Work  and  Culture 

that  instinct  for  creativeness  which  is 
always  striving  for  expression  in  the 
work  of  humanity ;  that  instinct 
which  blindly  pushes  its  way  through 
rudimentary  stages  of  effort  to  the 
possession  of  skill;  slowly  transform 
ing  itself  meanwhile  into  intelligence, 

O  O  * 

and  flowering  at  last  in  the  Parthe 
non,  the  Cathedral  at  Amiens,  the 
Book  of  Job,  Faust,  Hamlet,  the 
Divine  Comedy,  Beethoven's  Fifth 
Symphony,  Wagner's  Parsifal,  Rem 
brandt's  portraits.  This  ascent  of 
the  spirit  of  man  out  of  the  mysteri 
ous  depths  of  its  own  consciousness 
to  these  sublime  heights  of  achieve 
ment  is  the  true  history  of  the  race ; 
the  history  which  silently  unfolds  it 
self  through  and  behind  events,  and 
makes  events  comprehensible.  In 
the  sweat  of  his  brow  man  has  pro 
tected  and  fed  himself;  but  this  has 
244 


Consummation 

been  but  the  beginning  of  that  continu 
ous  miracle  which  has  not  only  turned 
deserts  into  gardens  and  water  into 
wine,  but  has  transformed  the  uncouth 
rock  into  images  of  immortal  beauty, 
and  the  worker  from  the  servant  of 
natural  conditions  and  forces  into 
their  master.  Men  still  work,  as 
their  fathers  did  before  them,  for 
shelter  and  bread ;  but  the  spiritual 
products  of  work  have  long  since 
dwarfed  its  material  returns.  A  man 
must  still  work  or  starve  in  any  well- 
ordered  society  ;  but  the  products  of 
work  to-day  are  ease,  travel,  society, 
art,  —  in  a  word,  culture.  In  that  free 
unfolding  of  all  that  is  in  man  and 
that  ripening  of  knowledge,  taste, 
and  character,  which  are  summed  up 
in  culture,  work  finds  its  true  inter 
pretation.  A  man  puts  himself  into 
his  work  in  order  that  he  may  pass 
245 


Work  and  Culture 

through  an  apprenticeship  of  servi 
tude  and  crudity  into  the  freedom  of 
creative  power.  He  discovers,  liber 
ates,  harmonises,  and  enriches  him 
self.  Through  work  he  accomplishes 
his  destiny  ;  for  one  of  the  great  ends 
of  his  life  is  attained  only  when  he 
makes  himself  skilful  and  creative, 
masters  the  secrets  of  his  craft  and 
pours  his  spiritual  energy  like  a  great 
tide  into  his  work.  The  master 
worker  learns  that  the  secret  of 
happiness  is  the  opportunity  and 
the  ability  to  express  nobly  what 
ever  is  deepest  in  his  personality, 
and  that  supreme  good  fortune 
comes  to  him  who  can  lose  him 
self  in  some  generous  and  adequate 
task. 

The    last    word,   however,    is    not 
task  but  opportunity ;  for  work,  like 
all    forms    of   education,    prophesies 
246 


Consummation 

the  larger  uses  of  energy,  experience, 
and  power  which  are  to  come  when 
training  and  discipline  have  accom 
plished  their  ends  and  borne  their 
fruit. 


247 


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